


Paths of Providence

by soarenworth



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, SHIELD, X-Men References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soarenworth/pseuds/soarenworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Located in the Marvel's Cinematic Universe, a parallel universe is created when an iconic Agent named Phil Coulson finds and adopts a child in the New Mexico Desert. This is their story leading up to and eventually passing the events of the Avengers (2012). Updates every Monday. Feel free to review</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unidentified Objects

The day had been yet another typically hot summer day for New Mexico. Usually the desert settled as the sun set over the faraway mesa bluffs, but tonight was exceptionally slow to cool. All through the tiny town of Magdalena, windows stood open in the hope of letting in a tiny stray breeze. Even the faintest hint of wind would be a welcome respite from the lingering heat of the day. If people hadn’t been languishing on front porches or dozing off by open windows in the hope of finding a bit of evening chill, the whole astounding event might have gone completely unnoticed.

A clear night sky suddenly turned into a swirling mass of light and color. Greens, pinks, and fire-colored orange flashes split the darkness. The clouds of light spiralled around like a hurricane but there was nary a breeze in the oppressively hot August sky. A low rumbling growl accompanied the fantastic light show. The entire desert trembled. Stones skipped across the street. Coffee mugs full of thick diner coffee on the little town cafe rattled with the force of energy boiling in the sky just above them.

Townspeople gathered in the middle of first street in the tiny town of Magdalena, looking up at the peculiar sky as it angrily boiled and zapped. Evening meals were left abandoned and Friday night televisions prattled on with their regular programming. Most people were catching reruns of Dallas, but even that was ignored in favor of something far more impressive in the sky.

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah, I think it might be...”

High above them, a black helicopter shot toward the storm as it fizzled and popped among the high wisps of cirrus clouds. Phil Coulson knelt near the edge of the open helicopter door, looking down over the silica-sparkling deserts of New Mexico. He would have to make up some kind of story to explain the storm. But the folks of New Mexico were used to the strange and bizarre. Heck, they were the home of Roswell... but that wasn’t nearly as exciting as the conspiracy theorists made it out to be.

“Think we found the mother ship?” he joked over his shoulder to the young lieutenant assigned to him, Maria Hill. She didn’t seem much amused by his joke but not much seemed to amuse her anyway, so it was par for the course.

“I think we would have picked up some kind of communications over the radio waves if it was the mother ship rather than just static.”

“It was a joke,” smiled Phil cheerily, “We’re allowed to joke on the job, you know. Sometimes it is the only thing that keeps you from going absolutely out of your mind.”

“I know that.”

“Alright, so long as you do,” replied Phil as their helicopter circled around the edge of the quickly-dissipating storm, “Let’s go.”

A few minutes later, they stepped out of the helicopter and ducked to avoid the helicopter blades. Agents from a number of other transports spilled into the middle of the desert patch. Several large crates were waiting for them and armored security experts were establishing a perimeter. The first spotlight clicked on, halogen flickering to life to reveal a peculiar scrawl across the desert rocks. Dark embers sparkled with flecks of mica created an intricate pattern against the lighter colored reddish gold sand of the Jornada del Muerto desert.

“We will need samples of all this,” said Phil to a couple of technicians, “We’ll need to scan for magnetic fields, radioactivity, heat signatures, signs of life... the usual what-have-yous. Report back upon completion.”

“Sir!”

The small crowd dispersed, going about their jobs. Phil took the moment to check his watch. It was 10:17pm. The storm began at 9:44pm and lasted approximately twenty five minutes. It was a bit amazing that there wasn’t a crowd out here even after such a short amount of time. Then again, it was a remote stretch of godforsaken desert, it was unlikely that there weren’t many people around to begin with. He said as much to Maria.

“Finding a source for this should be easy, then,” she said, flicking a small flashlight around the site, “If there isn’t much to begin with, there aren’t many leads to follow up.”

“I get the sense that you have an idea.”

“Trinity nuclear testing was only about forty miles from here. Could it be something involved with that?”

“That site hasn’t been active since the 1940’s. I don’t think this has anything to do with radiation but we’ll check anyway and see if we can pick up some isotopes.”

“Are you sure that the testing stopped back then. We have a lot of sites that are technically closed up but...”

“Not this one,” interjected Phil quickly, “It was the first. Continued testing wouldn’t just ruin the environment but it would be... I dunno... some sort of desecration of the memory. It was such a big event. Such a huge part of the modern world.”

Maria nodded and looked out across the desert, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

“Yeah,” sighed Phil as he looked up into the sky, chills running up and down his spine at the sound of the ancient words. Somehow it seemed more powerful coming from her, someone who knew the words intimately. “But we will still check for radiation. I’ll call up the folks at Trinity and make sure there is nothing funny going on. We’ll cover all the bases just to be safe. Rule out every possibility.”

“Fair enough. What do I need to do?”

“We will need to drop by the Very Large Array in order to get their data. Maybe their equipment has something that we didn’t pick up. If you can go and visit in a bit, then that will be a big help. For now, head up forensics team B. I’ll take the A team. When Agent Carter gets here from Roswell, she will bring up the cosmic radiation team.”

“When will that be?”

“Any minute.”

Phil scanned the dark skies for signs of the helicopter. All was quiet now. In this case, it was actually a good thing. Although, some little part of him kind of wanted to see the light show a little longer. Catching a slight glimpse out of a moving helicopter wasn’t quite good enough for him.

“Look out,” said Maria, looking over his shoulder, “Rubberneckers.”

Standing up near the barricade was someone who was very apparently not SHIELD personnel. He wore a loud Hawaiian-print shirt and shorts with birkenstocks and thick puce socks. A fishing hat covered his grizzled hair and shaded his pickle green eyes. The rest of his face was covered with a thick, dark mountain-man beard streaked with steely gray.

“I’ll take care of it,” sighed Phil. It was a part of the job to do PR and make sure the public heard the story. Was it the truth? Not always. He tried his best to be honest but how much of a panic would it cause if the public knew they had been in contact with alien civilizations for going on five years now? Stock markets would crash, there would be riots in the streets, rivers of blood, cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria. Sometimes it was better to be ignorant and accept the fact that the plane crash was just a error in a training exercise.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” said the man at the barricade.

“Not much. Just investigating the lights from the sky.”

“You CIA? FBI? NSA?”

“We’re from the Very Large Array,” lied Phil easily, “We relocated some of our equipment  out here to get a better read on that solar storm.”

“I dunno on what planet that’s a solar storm,” said the man as he absently stroked his scraggly beard, “I’ve lived here all my life and seen a good deal of weird shit. That ain’t a solar storm.”

“Well,” smiled Phil, trying desperately to keep his cool and shoo this fellow off as fast as possible, “We shall see what we find out. Our preliminary readings indicate it was a solar storm.”

“Do you mind if I quote you?”

“I beg your pardon?” blinked Phil.

“I run a little newsletter, The Roswell Observer. It is all about funny things in the sky.”

“Funny things in the sky?” said Phil mirthlessly, fearing the worst, “Like… atmospheric phenomena?”

“Sometimes, but mostly aliens. You know, the grays and the little men in Area 51. All the things that aren’t of this world.”

“I highly doubt there is anything like that around here,” said Phil, “And you can quote me on that.”

“That’s the same areal phenomena as occurred back in Coventry in 1948, as recorded by RAF pilots and then again in the Bermuda Triangle in 1979 when the USS Kelvin went missing. This is indicative of a cross-dimensional tear. Look at the gravitational pull. You’ll see I’m right!”

Phil sighed. Whenever he had to clean up some sort of mess such as this, there were always a few conspiracy nuts roaming about . It was par for the course but didn’t get any less annoying as time went on.

“Okay, sir, are we done here?”

“Oh, we’re never done,” said the man, pulling out a cigarette from an inner jacket pocket and lighting it, “But I’ll leave now before I get black-bagged and wake up in a basement in some government warehouse.”

“Don’t tempt me,” grumbled Phil under his breath as he gestured for two SHIELD security agents to come and make sure the man actually left.

Phil saw the lights of the third incoming helicopter before he heard it. The aircraft touched down like a raptor next to the other vehicles. A thin streak of white light jumped from the back cockpit with a case in tow. Her bright blond hair caught in a tangled mess about her head, kicked up by the rotating helicopter blades.

“Agent Carter?” he called out, “Nice of you to drop by.”

“Cosmic radiation team reporting for duty,” she said, saluting very officially, “Agents Morse and Parker are here as well.”

“It seems Fury has sent only the best of the best.”

She blushed a bit, “Sir.”

“What is his ETA?”

“Within the hour,” she said, brushing her hair back down into place with her fingers, “He is still at the debriefing with Interpol regarding the Maggia matter.”

“Let’s try to be nearly done by the time he gets there,” said Phil, “And before the conspiracy nuts swarm the place.”

“Yes, sir,” she turned quickly and headed back toward the helicopter, “Agent Morse, take soil samples and microbe cultures. Parker, we need a geiger counter sweep for coordinates A-34, H-27, E-75, and M-116. Report the levels to Director Fury when he arrives.”

Confident, the situation was under control, Phil walked back into the middle of the site, examining the peculiar, sparkling design in the sand. A darker, slightly shimmering, pattern rested over the lighter sand. It looked almost Celtic or something like that. Camera crews were photographing it as well as taking aerial shots via satellite and reconnaissance jet. It would be sent to cryptographers and iconography experts for analysis. Out of all the strange things in this case, the pattern in the sand had to be one of the most peculiar.

Equally as peculiar was seeing Maria a few steps away, wearing sunglasses... at dusk. Upon drawing closer, Phil realized there was a little blinking light along the side indicative of  night vision. She turned her head from side to side, scanning the desert. There wasn’t really a definite answer to what they were looking for. More than anything, they were just scanning for anomalies amidst an even larger anomaly.

“Anything unusual?” asked Phil as he drew closer to the young lieutenant, “I mean, more unusual?”

“Nothing,” she noted, “A few heat signatures in the distance but most of those are things like heat pockets, uneven cooling, or what have you.”

“Well, that doesn’t help much,” muttered Phil, “We’re going to bring the metal detectors out to check for debris. Want to come with?”

“Might as well,” she said as she took off the sunglasses and blinked uneasily at the change in lighting, “I’m getting nothing here.”

A few moments later, the team was locked and loaded with metal detectors, Geiger counters, and other mechanisms and tools. Phil led the pack with Maria just along the side, swinging the sensor section of a Geiger counter from side to side. Because of the squealing and whining of the different machines, Phil didn’t hear the strange sound for quite some time. There were more squeaks and whines but again it didn’t register with Phil. It was only when there was an especially loud whine that he turned and headed into the brush.

“Agent Coulson!” called Maria, “Phil? Where are you going?”

“Agent? Report!” squeaked his walkie-talkie.

He didn’t respond. If he heard what he thought he heard, it would burst the case wide open. It would be something that wasn’t supposed to be there. The sagebrush parted on either side of him. He reached out into the darkness and got stuck by an aggressive prickly pear cactus for his trouble.

Perhaps the sound was just his imagination. Perhaps it was just the sound of the equipment. His hand was bleeding a bit from the cactus. He would look once again when he had a light but gathering data was more important right now.

Then, he heard the noise again: a babbling, mewling noise. He turned quickly. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it sounded like there was a young child out in the middle of the wilderness. The sound was so clear and close, it couldn’t be the machines.

“Maria! Bring a light!”

“Did you find something?”

“I don’t believe this,” muttered Phil as he knelt down and reached out toward a patch of darkness.

Phil picked up the tiny baby and cradled it close to his chest. She was bound in a light, gauzy fabric with intricate details but it did little to protect her from the elements. The little body was chilled in the desert night. Her little, chubby limbs were limp and he feared that the poor thing was dead. It broke his heart to find a baby corpse in the desert. It made him wonder what could have possibly happened. He hoped it wasn’t foul play.

After a moment, to his relief, the little baby wiggled in his arms, little fists punching the air a bit and legs kicking. The infant coughed once and then whined a bit. The whine turned in a high pitched scream. Phil held the little girl close.

It occurred to him that the baby was likely suffering from exposure so he wiggled off his jacket and wrapped it around the infant to protect her from the night. He rocked her back and forth against his chest until her cries became soft, babbling whines.

Maria ran up behind him and held a flashlight up so she could see what was in Phil’s arms. She gasped.

“It’s a little girl,” said Phil, holding her up so Maria could see her properly. The girl had a head covered with of reddish brown peach fuzz and dark eyes. She cooed up at the light, reaching one fist out to try to touch it. Her smile was infectious and Phil couldn’t help but grin a bit himself.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” said Maria, “There is a baby out here?”

“Yeah. I… I just found her by that bush.”

“She can’t have been out here that long, maybe the person who dumped her is still around. They wouldn’t be able to get past the perimeter without being seen.”

“That’s not precisely true,” noted Phil, “It’s dark out here and if they know the hiding spots in the desert, they could be already gone.”

“She might have some radiation or other debris from the storm on her,” said Maria, “We need to take samples from her and decontaminate her before anything else.”

“No, we need to get her something to drink,” said Phil, “There’s no telling how long she’s been out here. Let’s… take it easy. Worry about the funny rocks and stuff.”

“Sir?”

Phil hurried back to the base, desperate to find a bottle of water or something for the little baby. She seemed actually fairly calm but it could be due to dehydration. He finally found a big tank in the back of a truck and settled down in the cool.

The baby chewed on the corner of his jacket. She couldn’t be very old at all, her teeth hadn’t even come in. Her wide eyes glanced around, trying to take in everything. Soft coos escaped her lips as she tried to reach out toward the different moving objects around them.

Phil dipped his finger into the jug of water and allow the water to drip into her mouth. She eagerly swallowed up the sweet water, continuing to coo softly. Eventually, Phil’s finger drew too close and she grabbed a hold. There was no breaking the infant’s grasp. She wasn’t going to let go.

“Hey,” smiled Phil, trying to pull his finger away, “I need that.”

She giggled, continuing to hold onto him. They started a little game of tug-of-war until the little girl’s eyes began to flutter and blink. She appeared tired. Phil protectively pulled his jacket around her and pulled her tight to his chest. Tiny hands grabbed at his shirt, keeping him pulled close. Something awakened in Phil’s chest. It was warm, comfortable. It felt like the baby was meant to be clasped tightly in his arms. She was exactly the right size and shape to rest against him. A perfect fit.

“Where did you come from?” he asked the little girl as she yawned next to his ear. It wasn’t like he expected an answer, he just wanted a clue. “You don’t happen to know what is going on, do you?”

He held her up in front of him so he could get a better look at her. She fussed, obviously frustrated that she had been removed from the comfortable spot between his arm and his chest. Rolling his eyes, Phil replaced her and she quieted down again.

Another helicopter was landing not far away. Sighing, Phil stood and started walking toward it, holding the girl tightly. Chances were that it was Fury finally arriving. It could also be another team of scientists or security personnel. Frankly, he was hoping for the latter. If he could spirit the girl out of there early, then there would be less questions to try to answer.

Unfortunately it was Fury, eyepatch and all but he was too busy talking with Agent Morse to notice the extra person in their midst. It really wasn’t so much talking as it was yelling as the top of his lungs in response to the powering down of the helicopters.

“Have we checked with Mar-vell and the others to see if this is their deal?”

“They say it’s beyond them,” said Agent Morse as she brushed a blond hair from her face and adjusted her large gold aviator glasses, “Their sensors say it comes from our atmosphere. Our satellites shorted so there are no readings from there.”

“Within our own atmosphere?”

“Yes, sir. An energy surge in our atmosphere.”

“How does that happen?”

“We don’t know.”

“Well then, find out,” ordered Fury, “Get in contact with the folks at NORAD, NOAA, NASA, the whole alphabet soup. Get Parker and start canvassing the university circuit for the usual experts. Our stuff is shorted, let’s see if anyone else is still functioning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil walked up to Fury but as he did so, the little baby girl began to scream. He stepped away from the helicopter blades until she calmed down. Turning back, he could see the frown plastered all across Fury’s face.

Fury had to wait for the helicopters to completely power down before he spoke, “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Uh, what did you think it was?” asked Phil, tapping the fussy baby on the back to calm her.

“Tell me that isn’t a kid.”

“It is.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Fury, “Agent Morse, do you believe this?”

“With difficulty, sir.”

The girl finally stopped screaming and settled down. Phil sighed, “Look, she was in the desert. She was all alone, dehydrated, and probably scared.”

“So, now we have this thing-”

“Evelyn.”

Fury, along with the rest of the surrounding agents, paused for a long second, looking from the baby to Phil and back again. The little girl giggled and started to chew against the edge of Phil’s jacket, which he was using as a blanket for the moment. He looked back up to Phil.

“You named it?”

“Her,” corrected Phil.

“Don’t get technical with me,” ordered Fury, “We don’t know what it is. It could be a part of our investigation.”

“Or she could be a poor kid dumped in the desert who needs someone to look after her,” said Phil as he shifted his arms to have a more stable grip on the baby and keep her head cradled comfortably against the crook of his arm, “We don’t know for sure.”

“Coulson, it’s an 0-8-4.”

Phil looked down into his arms as the girl reached forward and tried to grab her toes, babbling the whole time. She finally managed to snag her big toe and tried to put it in her mouth.

“And… this… is an 0-8-4 sir?”

“We don’t know what it is or where it comes from so, yes, by definition it is an 0-8-4.”

“It is a very big coincidence that we find a baby in the desert right during a big solar storm,” noted Maria, who had returned from scoping the area with the metal detectors.

“And my job doesn’t let me believe in coincidences,” said Fury, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Phil frowned, “So we’re going to lock her up in a lab somewhere?”

“For the time being, yes. At least until we know what is going on and have some time to observe her.”

“Sir, that is completely unacceptable.”

Fury raised an eyebrow, “Oh, really? I’m sorry, I just want to make sure she isn’t going to turn into a four story rattlesnake and take over Albuquerque but clearly I’m being the irrational one here.”

Phil blinked, “Have we ever had a four story rattlesnake try to take over Albuquerque?”

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Nothing in this world shocks me anymore.”

Evelyn laughed. Her little dark eyes sparkled and a toothless smile spread across her chubby baby face. Her legs kicked against Phil’s arm and he was surprised at the strength she had. His arm actually hurt a little bit.

“Gentlemen... we are getting off topic,” said Maria, “We need to figure out what to do with Phil’s kid.”

“Oh, not you too,” grumbled Fury under his breath. He crossed his arms, looking back and forth between the two of them. He pointed to Maria, “I assume you are siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with anyone. Let’s figure out if the child is or has anything we should be concerned about. If there isn’t anything, then I say we let her go. And we certainly can’t just drop her off back in the desert. If Phil wants to look after her, and maybe adopt her, I don’t see any problem with that. There isn’t any sense keeping her locked in a lab if she is just a kid who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think everyone can agree to that.”

Fury looked down at the troublesome pair, “You know, normally, people want to take home a puppy... not a kid!”

Phil paused for a moment, “Is that a yes, Sir?”

“Oh, good God, knock yourself out,” grumbled Fury, waving a hand dismissively as he turned to walk away, “Go ahead and take her after we finish the testing. I don’t care anymore.”

Reluctantly, Phil handed the baby off to Agent Carter. He lingered around the mobile testing unit while Evelyn was scanned, swabbed, and examined. Meanwhile, a nurse tended to removing the cactus needles from his hand, although Phil found himself more concerned about getting custody of the child. Not to Phil’s surprise, they couldn’t find a single thing that was different or out of the ordinary about the girl. She was a healthy baby, save for a thin coating of magnetized dust clinging to her.

“I thought she was just a little girl in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Phil when he finally received the swaddled baby back in his arms. She was sleeping now. Her little hands and feet twitched slightly in her sleep, as though trying to grab at something that wasn’t there.

“Are you going to take her home?” asked Maria as she helped lift containers full of data-gathering supplies back into the trucks and helicopters so they could clear out before the rubberneckers gathered in force.

“Yes,” said Phil, running a hand across the faint bit of fuzz on the baby’s head before looking up, “Thank you, Maria.”

“Don’t thank me. This is your deal.”

Phil chuckled, “Yeah, yeah I guess it is.”

“What is her name?”

“Evelyn,” smiled Phil, “Evelyn Jane Coulson.”


	2. Baby Girl

Phil struggled to flip the light switch on with his elbow as he walked into his apartment, arms full with two large grocery bags and a baby in the sling he had hastily purchased and assembled. The center island in the kitchen was almost totally filled by the bags and bags of baby supplies he had stocked up on over the past few hours. The teeny baby cooed as he managed to wiggle her out of the sling. Evelyn, he reminded himself, her name was Evelyn and he was going to call her by her name from now on.

“Hi Evelyn,” he smiled as he lay her on the blanket in the adjacent living room, “Stay here, okay? I’ve got to put stuff away. Don’t… don’t run off.”

She giggled, as though realizing the silliness of the statement just as much as he did. He walked back to the kitchen, but he could see Evelyn staring up at the ceiling from where he stood. As he unpacked the bags and put everything on their proper shelves, his eyes were always partly on Evelyn. Luckily, nothing happened. She rolled back and forth on the blanket, lifting her legs at one point to study her tiny baby toes. She reached up to touch them and then giggled when she almost reached them. Phil found himself smiling as he put away little glass jars of baby food, instant formulas, and the stack of baby care books he picked up.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. He had to be forgetting something for her. Mentally, he went through his checklist. The car seat was in his 1983 sedan, her high chair was at the table, there were piles of blankets, towels, and clothing all ready for her and the diapers and wipes were already in the bathroom. It seemed like he had everything he needed to begin raising a daughter. Phil quickly changed into his pajamas and picked Evelyn up in his arms.

“Okay, little one. Time for bedtime…oh…,” he paused for a moment as realization dawned on him, “Aw, crap… bed! I forgot to get a bed!”

He looked back over his shoulder at the glowing light on the stove. It was 11:35 at night. Chances were good that none of the baby stores were open at this hour. Evelyn babbled gently in his arms, staring sleepily around the room.

Working quickly, Phil walked into the bedroom, looking for something that could serve as a makeshift baby bed. His eyes drifted to a large, flat storage container he used to hold his college text books… the ones he had been meaning to drop by the book resale for several years now. It would have to do for tonight. He cleared the books out and stuffed it full of blankets, making a small nest for Evelyn to fit in. She sank into the blankets, still cooing softly. Her soft baby talk was interrupted by a small yawn. Apparently she was happy with her sleeping conditions.

Phil dragged the plush armchair from the living room and set Evelyn’s box on top so he could keep an eye on her from the bed. At long last, Phil sat down on his bed, looking over at the dozing Evelyn. His back muscles relaxed as he slid into bed and picked up the first of many books about baby care he had to get through.

His eyes kept twitching from his book over to the sleeping Evelyn. Her breathing was slow and even, interspersed with a few small coos. Occasionally her arm or leg would twitch as she settled into deep sleep.

Finally, Phil settled into bed. Tomorrow was Saturday. He would have to get up early to get her a crib before naptime.

Oh… naptime. Having a kid around would be much more interesting than he thought. Rubbing his eyes, Phil decided he would deal with that when it happened. He would do some reading and see what he could come up with. He drifted off to sleep, barely remembering to turn the lamp off.

Phil woke up to a soft cooing noise from the other side of the room. He sat bolt upright in bed, instinctively pulling the gun out from under his pillow and aiming it toward the door of the bedroom. He heard the soft noise again and realized it was Evelyn.

She was lying in the plastic tub, considering him curiously with her wide, hazel eyes. They seemed to be taking in every single thing in the room while she sucked on the edge of the blue Sherpa blanket he covered her with the night before. Phil looked at the infant’s frizzy auburn hair sticking up at odd angles and chuckled.

Smiling, Phil climbed out of bed and started to make his way to the bathroom. He really had to pee. He barely got to the door before he caught a whiff of something truly foul smelling. Evelyn turned and looked over at him, smiling as she continued to chew the blanket.

“Diaper,” muttered Phil, “Oh… shoot!”

He picked her up, making a face as the smell grew more potent and doing everything in his power to avoid touching the squishy cotton pouch. He started to head to the bathroom at first but then changed directions to the kitchen. The bathroom counter wasn’t nearly big enough to change her on unless he wanted to put her halfway in the sink. So, in addition to buying a bed, he would also have to get a changing table.

Phil put down a towel, wipes, and the bag of diapers. Evelyn wiggled on the towel, looking up at him as if to say ‘well, are you going to do something about this?’

“I’m getting on it,” he replied to nobody, “I’ve just never done this before. I’ve never changed a diaper, much less my daughter’s diaper. Okay… I can do this.”

He had the wipes in hand as he undid the tabs on the diaper. A horrible smell wafted up to his nose. Phil took a step back and held a hand to his nose. He had attended some crime scenes… some with decomposing bodies, or charred corpses, or chemical spills that melted flesh from bone. He even had to help clean up a few alien corpses. None of those situations smelled anywhere as near as foul as this diaper.

“Oh God,” he tried to catch a breath, however fleeting, of fresh air but it just wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Phil gasped for air as he removed and threw away the diaper, wiping her clean. It was such a relief to put the new diaper on. He moved her legs around, checking the fit of the diaper. She squealed and giggled as he touched her tiny feet. Blinking, he tried doing it again and she let out a little shriek of joy.

“You’re ticklish, aren’t you?” he smiled as she babbled up at him, “That’s cute!”

He scooped her up quickly and spun her around the room. She screamed with joy, laughing and giggling as he set her down on the couch. Her little legs kicked and tiny fists punched at the air. Her little mop of frizzy auburn hair was still sticking out at odd angles. Phil found himself laughing at her morning hair.

He then realized that he still had to use the bathroom and it was far more urgent now than it was before. He made sure Evelyn was safely nestled among the couch cushions before racing down the hall to the bathroom. Upon returning, it occurred to him that he would need to get a few further supplies for Evelyn. After breakfast, she was back in her sling and they were in the local mall.

Had Phil known years ago that women flocked to him when he had a baby slung around his shoulders, he would have volunteered to babysit his little cousins and take them out for ice cream a lot more often. It seemed everywhere he went, someone was cooing over the little girl. And it may have been his imagination, but she seemed to enjoy the attention as they hurried to the baby store.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” he muttered to her when they had a moment alone, “Eventually you won’t be tiny and people won’t coo over you.”

He paused in that line of thought as he looked over the different models of cribs. There were big cribs that looked like they could accommodate triplets, small bassinets with frills, ones with movie characters painted on them, and just about every size, color, or model that you could think of. He looked down at the little girl.

“I’m sure you will be beautiful when you grow up,” he corrected himself, “But… you won’t be a baby forever. So… why am I going to spend three hundred dollars on something that I will only use for a year? Christ, they have a racket going on in the baby supply market.”

He finally picked out the least expensive crib that still had a passable safety rating. It was simple, white, and looked easy enough to put together. There was also a changing table that was about the same color. The final price tag made him feel a bit sick to his stomach. So be it, if it meant his new daughter had a safe place to sleep. Still, the cost made him wince somewhat as it flashed up on the cash register.

“You know,” said the cashier, pulling him from his thoughts in the checkout line,“Since you spent over fifty dollars with us today, you get a coupon for ten percent off your next purchase.”

“Well, I guess I am coming to you guys for diapers next week… and probably the week after,” he muttered, digging through his wallet for change.

“You can also sign up for our in-store credit card,” she said, eagerly pitching a sale, “It grants you cash back after you make two hundred dollars in purchases.”

Phil blinked and then shook his head. Cash back was tempting but credit cards always seemed to trip you up with interest. Not something he wanted to deal with on top of a kid and work. It made him tired, and grateful to be out of the New Mexico heat and dry. That being said, he still had much to do starting with assembling the new purchases.

It took most of the morning, but at long last, Phil stepped back to admire his handiwork and wipe the sweat off his brow. The crib and the changing table were assembled, despite having to run to the hardware store twice to get more screws and a new drill bit. Meanwhile, Evelyn had spent most of the morning crawling around on his bed and examining just about every single one of the educational toys Phil had bought for her. She seemed especially taken with the teething rings.

Phil turned to see exactly where Evelyn got off to. As it turned out she had coiled up on his jacket and was sleeping soundly right in the middle of his bed. Phil looked at his watch to see how much of the day had been wasted with those projects. Surprisingly, it was only a bit after noon, probably about naptime for Evelyn. She could sleep on the bed while he went and took care of some of the stuff around the house. In the kitchen, he scooped up the little empty glass bottles of baby food and put them in the recycle bin.

“That girl eats more than a horse,” he muttered, wiping the counter down, “God knows how long she was out there though… probably malnourished.”

Grabbing one of a handful of parenting books, Phil climbed onto the bed, careful not to wake Evelyn. He poked at the diaper, relieved to find it dry. Her little fists held his jacket tightly. Tiny toes curled and uncurled as she slept. At one point she stirred and yawned, but then dozed back off to sleep.

Phil kept reading his book, slightly intimidated by all the information being thrown at him. Evelyn would be sitting up by herself fairly soon. Not much longer, she would be crawling. Then she would walk. Little baby Evelyn wouldn’t be a baby forever. His hand lazily ran through her fuzzy baby hair, soft as fluff from a cottonwood tree. They lay, Phil cuddled protectively around his new baby daughter, until Evelyn was done with her nap.

It was darn close to a perfect Saturday.

 


	3. Confluence

The weekend was woefully short. He had to go to work on Monday and Phil realized he would have to report back to the Triskelion for reports and mind-numbing meetings. Evelyn laid on the bed, babbling a little song to herself as he fretted picking out clothing for her. There were little dresses and shoes in every color of the rainbow. He had panicked in the clothing section of Walmart and bought whatever looked like it would fit without really planning anything. Eventually he settled on a little blue dress that looked like it was made for a doll and small, pink slippers and slipped a thick pink head band on her head in attempt to tame her fluffy tufts of hair.

He knew it wasn’t proper for him to bring the infant into work but until he could work out a babysitter or a nanny or somebody to watch after her during the day, it was what needed to be done. He had been unlucky in finding anyone advertizing in the local paper.

“Come on,” he picked her up, smiling as she laughed a little, “We gotta go to work, Evelyn.”

She cooed and reached out for his silky black tie. He had taken to wearing a suit to work a long time ago. There was something just inherently cool about wearing a suit with the dark sunglasses. It was the look of super spies. It was James Bond suave with a touch of unabashed awesomeness. That is to say it was suave and badass until a baby started chewing on the end of the tie, leaving a long sticky line of drool behind.

"No!" Phil wrestled his tie back, "No, Evelyn. We don't chew. Besides I fed you earlier."

She giggled and continued to reach for things to chew on as he rushed through breakfast and raced out the door. He was already late.

The Triskelion was an imposing figure located right on the intersection of the Anacostia and Potomac River within spitting distance of the Navy Yard in Washington DC. To the public face, it was just another government building in a city almost entirely made up of government buildings full of government people in a city whose population was largely government people. The blueprints said it was a regular 50-some-odd-story building with mostly offices, a private air strip, and rooftop helicopter landing pad. Then again, if you asked people what SHIELD was, they would probably say it had something to do with an international police force or else national security something or another. Which wasn’t wrong, technically.

What the blueprints (from way back in 1968) didn’t show was the additional five stories built downward under the ground and spreading out under the river and the subterranean levels of Washington DC for something like a total of seven miles (if Phil recalled correctly). Part doomsday bunker, part training ground, and part top-secret laboratories populated with investigation offices, the Triskelion was actually the beating heart of not just world security but, as of late, intergalactic security for SHIELD.

The front entrance had recently been remodeled. When Phil first walked in all those years ago as a cadet, the whole place reminded him very much of his high school principal’s office. There was dark, heavy wood paneling everywhere with steel fixtures that stood stark in the harsh industrial lighting. It was so dated and stuffy, one could practically smell the mothballs. The new entrance replaced the wood paneling with glass, opening it up to the sky and the trees. With daylight streaming in, the whole place seemed to sparkle with new life. He had never really paid attention to the floor until now. They kept the old floor but re-finished it. The rich, forest green marble looked like a work of art in and of itself with veins of sparkling white marble and threads of shiny gold rock. Steel was replaced with a shiny chrome, so polished you could almost see your own reflection it it. The giant SHIELD insignia statue in the center of the floor was backlit by the rising sun, making it seem like the eagle was soaring into the clouds.

As Phil walked in today, he still found himself marvelling at everything. Sure, the glossiness of the new fixture was somewhat diminished. All new things eventually become old. But he couldn’t help but feel uplifted seeing the sun one last time before he disappeared into the shadowy offices at Level 5. He couldn’t take too much time to bask in the sun because he was running late. His indecisiveness on how to dress Evelyn for her first day out had cost him a good twenty minutes of his morning routine, which in turn meant that he got stuck in the heat of DC rush hour. Now he had to go directly to the meeting, Evelyn in tow.

Of course babies being babies, she cried most of the way through the meeting. She needed her bottle one minute and then the next minute she needed a diaper change. A debrief meeting that was only supposed to take an hour ended up being nearly three because Phil had to run around and gather the information independently while taking care of a wriggling infant. Most of the staff didn’t complain that he had a baby in tow. However, when her screams reached the higher octaves people began finding subtle ways of plugging their ears or making excuses to leave the room.

By the time he collapsed into his chair at lunch, he was exhausted. His brain felt fuzzy and empty and his arms hurt from holding Evelyn all day long. He pondered how much of a blow to his dignity it would be to use the baby harness and just let Evelyn dangle off his back all day. While deep in his mire, he missed Maria and Agent Parker sliding in around him with their styrofoam takeaway containers.

“How is your first weekend of being a father?” asked Maria dropping an extra container of food on his desk, startling him out of his rest.

“Uh,” Phil shook his head to dispel the Monday cobwebs. Evelyn looked up irritably at him as she had become quite content in the silence, chewing on his tie, “Fine. I guess. It’s an adjustment.”

Parker snorted and then dug into the cafeteria macaroni and cheese. Phil shrugged and adjusted Evelyn in his arms before continuing.  

"I like it,” he elaborated, “But things are just different."

No sooner did the words escape his mouth that he caught a glimpse of a strange expression passed over Maria's face. It was only for a second, so Phil disregarded it. Evelyn fussed but settled as Phil adjusted her in his arms. She reached up to try to grab the end of his tie and stick it In her mouth.

"She sounds fussy," commented Parker between bites of macaroni.

"Maybe," conceded Phil, "she could just be adjusting to a new place. Or teething."

Parker frowned, "Isn't she a bit young to be teething?"

“I don't know. Maybe. I know she chews on everything.” muttered Phil as he wiggled his tie out of her grasp and flung it back over his shoulder. Baby drool splattered along the ground. Evelyn let out a little grunt of frustration and then proceeded to pout and fuss all while Phil dug around in her diaper bag for her binkie. “I don’t think... I don’t know. My books say that she starts teething at six to eight months. I think she is a bit younger than that, but I actually don’t know.”

Evelyn babbled something incoherent and reached back toward his tie. Her little fingers fell just short. Phil finally located her binkie and after a short struggle, managed to get Evelyn to reluctantly suck on it. She shot a betrayed look up at Phil.

It was absolutely perplexing to Maria that even though Evelyn was just an infant, she seemed to be able to communicate nearly perfectly without words. Her fussing, babbling, and even crying all seemed to portray what she wanted or needed. While Maria never took much stock in maternal instinct (having seen far too many mothers drop their babies and run for their lives during a crisis), but she began to wonder if that was the reason for her ease around the infant.

“You’ll never believe this,” said Phil, resting Evelyn against his shoulder so he could rub her back, “But yesterday morning, I set her on the kitchen table in her little car seat carrier. I turned my back for two seconds to put the milk in the fridge and she was digging around in a box of doughnuts.”

Maria raised an eyebrow curiously, “Really?”

“Swear to God,” he said, raising one hand while supporting Evelyn with the other, “I turn around and she has powdered sugar all over her face. She’s just kind of teething it, not really eating it. But I was so bemused that she could reach into the little box and pull it out.”

Unbeknownst to Phil, as he relayed the story, Evelyn had managed to spit her binkie out and grab the end of his tie. Contentedly, she chewed on the silky black material and left a  long, slimy trail of drool down the back of his nice black suit jacket.

“Did anyone get a chance to drop by the Olympics while we were out California way?” asked Agent Parker.

Maria looked up from her coffee, “Nobody could have gotten over to California in time.”

“Still,” Parker sighed, “I would have given my left arm to be a part of the security detail. It would have been great to see that Carl Lewis run.”

“Oh yeah,” said Phil, looking up from Evelyn and her bottle, “You ran track in college, didn’t you?”

Parker nodded, "For two years.”

"Why'd you quit?" asked Phil

"Uh," Parker looked uneasy, "Not by choice. Doc was concerned about my gait. Thought my tread wasn't balanced and I would end up hurting myself something fierce."

"So, you end up taking on one of the most physically demanding jobs on the planet?" noted Maria.

"I guess it's hard for me to say no to a challenge."

Phil found himself nodding unintentionally.  He straightened up quickly and pretended he had been just playing with Evelyn.

“Agent Coulson, your tie!”

Agent Morse had somehow snuck up behind him on her silent ballerina feet and began to reach out to wipe something slimy off his jacket. He stopped her hand halfway over and pushed it back, “Don’t. Seriously, don’t.”

She blinked, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t touch unless you want baby cooties,” he warned while adjusting the baby girl in his arms.

Agent Morse drew her hand back, “Cooties?”

Maria rolled her eyes and took Evelyn from Phil so he could clean up, “He means drool.”

“Ah, thank you,” said Phil as he pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed the drool off his tie, “I swear she puts her mouth on everything.”

“Oh,” Morse chuckled, “Well, I was looking for you. Legal wanted me to give you this file.”

She handed over a manila folder. Phil curiously opened it up. Documents spilled out in a torrent. “What’s this?”

“Evelyn’s legal documents,” she explained, “Birth certificate, Social Security card, and the paperwork you need to start the adoption process.”

“Closed adoption. I suppose it’s the only way,” muttered Phil as he rocked Evelyn with one arm and sifted through papers with the other, “I know she is going to ask someday. She’ll have questions.”

Parker and Maria looked at each other and then dug into their lunches. Phil’s question was obvious to the both of them but there was no good answer. Conversation floundered after that. Maria lingered, considering her coffee mug for a few minutes. Phil handed off baby Evelyn for her to rock while he read the papers and attempted to eat his pasta. She babbled a little sing-song tune, amusing herself by playing with the ends of Maria’s hair. She was gentle, never daring to pull even though it was obvious there was a good deal of strength in little hands. Morse and Parker talked for a little while before leaving. The words rested on her tongue but she dared not to speak them until they were alone. Phil looked tired already and it wasn’t going to get any easier for him.

She took a deep breath, “Have you considered…?”

“Quitting?”

It took her a moment to recover from Phil’s interjection but continued, “That’s not what I was going to say, but have you considered it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted in between mouthfuls, “I mean… she’s a lot of work. An awful lot of work. I understand why there are so many stay at home moms now.”

“So, are you quitting?” whispered Maria across the table, trying not to alarm the fellow agents around them.

Phil shrugged one shoulder, “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d rather just take a leave for a bit until I sort of… get things figured out. I don’t know how I would do it. I don’t have nearly enough vacation time for this sort of thing and… if I leave, will I be able to come back?”

It was Maria’s turn to shrug as Evelyn fussed a bit, eager to get back into her father’s arms. Maria handed her over and Phil nestled her in the crook of his arm. She pondered it for a moment over another sip of coffee.

“What about a transfer to another post? Is there anything opening soon that might allow you to spend more time with her?”

“I haven’t heard of anything but I guess that is something to keep an ear open for,” he sighed, “I knew I was going to have to ask Fury about options regarding Evelyn. Daycare or something.”

“Hand told me Fury is heading out of town,” she dropped, “Libyan elections.”

“Oh,” Phil anxiously, “When he’s leaving?”

Maria gave him a look. Fury never went in depth about his travel plans. If he spoke of them at all, they were so vague that they didn’t actually mean anything. It was for his safety and also to keep the public somewhat blind to SHIELD’s activities. There was also a healthy dose of Fury’s own paranoia in there.

“I think you are best off trying to meet with him before he leaves.”

Phil was gone barely after she finished the sentence, his lunch uneaten. He hurried upstairs to the director’s office, a spacious area near the top floor. You could look out through the giant, glass windows and see the National Mall and White House on a good day. Fury alway said he wanted that office in particular so if anything went wrong, he would be the first to see it.

A secretary waved Phil in but not before saying, “Director Fury will need to leave as soon as he is done with his phone call.”

Phil nodded. There were some benefits from knowing Nick from back when they were both enlisted Army boys. Anyone else would be stopped at the door and likely told Nick had already left.

“I know what he said and I have no idea why anyone is taking it seriously because that is just stupid,” snapped Fury, “We’re not bombing Russia. Nobody is bombing Russia. If you stopped being such a tight-ass and actually listened to what he said you would know that. It was intended to be funny. You do know how to be funny, don’t you Admiral?”

Someone said something unintelligible on the other end of the line, eliciting an eye-roll from Fury cold enough to cause snow in the Sahara. He eventually glanced down at his watch, lacking the patience to continue.

“You worry about your job and I’m going to worry about mine. It’s all a big, fat coincidence and we have no intel gathered on the matter. Not a peep. Now, if you don’t mind, I needed to be in Libya five minutes ago.”

Nick hung up the phone quickly before the Admiral could respond. Phil shifted his feet nervously as he tried to piece together what he wanted to ask. Fury didn’t give him time to dally.

“Speak quickly, Coulson, my plane is waiting.”

“Director,” he stated, standing nervously in Fury’s office with his tie dripping with baby slobber. She was starting to fuss and the vague smell of used diaper was beginning to reach Phil’s nose, “This sounds ridiculous to ask but, how do I apply for some kind of… maternity leave?”

Fury looked up and blinked once, slowly, and then closed his eye like a man who had already dealt with too much crazy in one day, “I would probably laugh, Coulson, if I didn’t know you were being dead serious.”

“Yeah,’ Phil found himself shifting sheepishly from foot to foot while Evelyn babbled something and then put her fingers in her mouth, “I need help, Nick.”

“Regretting your decision?” frowned Fury, crossing his arms.

“Not regretting,” clarified Phil, “Just… floundering, sir. I can’t quit but I can’t handle balancing her needs and what needs done here.”

Nick nodded for a long moment as the sun started to head downward over the Potomac River. He looked up at Phil finally, “Take the week off to get yourself situated with the girl. File adoption papers and stuff. Make it official. We will talk when I get back regarding what to do from there. We’ll figure something out for you.”

“Thank you,” whispered Phil, “Nick, Thank you so much.”

“I gotta go,” said Nick, as he gathered up papers, “I’ll call when I get back.”

“Alright, Nick,” said Phil, “Thanks again.”

He couldn’t run to the bathroom fast enough after his meeting with Nick to change Evelyn’s diaper. Later on, he hurried out to his Ford escort hatchback and tucked Evelyn into her little car seat, fastening it in place. She giggled at him and showed him her feet, having kicked off her shoes hours ago. Phil tickled her toes so she squealed with joy before he shut the door and went around to the front of the car.

He was tired. The last time he was this tired was after his first day of boot camp all those years ago. Was parenting always this exhausting? If that was true, he could understand why his mother always looked exhausted, especially after his father died. He sighed and started the car. It was seventeen years ago when his father died. That was too strange to consider but he found himself lingering on it throughout the long commute back to his home in Arlington.

“What would Dad do?” muttered Phil, looking back at Evelyn through the car mirror. He pondered it all the way home, until he stood in the front door of his little apartment.

He sat up dinner for himself by tossing leftover meatloaf into the microwave and pulling out a jar of applesauce for Evelyn. The little girl contently sucked her thumb in the middle of the living room floor while Phil scooped applesauce into a dish. Hopefully there would only be a short time longer of the baby food diet. But she needed teeth before she could move on.

“Okay,” he smiled, sitting on the ground in front of the television with Evelyn on his lap, “Dinnertime. Let’s watch the news. See what’s going on in the world today.”

She babbled contentedly as Phil spooned applesauce into her mouth. In between bites, she was very talkative, so talkative that Phil was continually distracted from the television.

“I don’t know what you are saying,” he chuckled, “But you seem excited about it.”

“Yea,” she seemed to say among her babbles. Phil did a double-take. There was no way that she actually spoke. He had to have just interpreted her babbles as a word he recognized. It seemed weird, but more plausible.

The news was full of trouble. There were problems seemingly all over the world. Phil held Evelyn closer as he settled on the couch. Suddenly the news seemed so much bigger than it was. The future seemed more important. His hand traced through the fluff atop her head while she babbled and chewed the edge of her blanket. Phil sighed and pushed the blanket out of the way. It desperately needed to be cleaned as the fluffy fabric had become matted and sticky.

“Evelyn, don’t chew,” he said, more sternly than he intended. The girl whimpered and started to cry again once the blanket was out of her grasp. Phil turned her around so he could look at her properly and try burping her. As he patted the little girl on the back, the screams didn’t stop. His ears rang, pain shooting up and rattling around in his brain like loose change.

He surveyed the screaming girl for a moment, trying to find anything that might indicate while she was crying. He just changed her diaper, she was eating applesauce happily moments before, all he did was take the blanket away.

The little gums inside her mouth were red and inflamed. Phil looked a bit closer, avoiding her tiny fists as they punched the air. The finest line of little pearly white baby teeth were just starting to push through the gum line. He held her close to his chest and reluctantly handed the blanket back to her.

No sooner was she wrapped back into the folds of the fluffy, well-loved sherpa blanket then she quieted down and began to chew only the edge once again. Phil sighed, “I guess you do what works…”


	4. Badass

The Hawthorn Diner was just across the river from the Triskelion. Since the earliest days of SHIELD, it had been a frequent haunt of agents in need of a nice burger with fries and a thick chocolate shake. There were many midnight missions which ended with people sitting around with thick burgers, greasy fries, and a cup of black coffee strong enough to stun a cat. Everyone sat under the florescent lights and the flashing neon trying to think of something to talk about but unable to come up with anything because they were too tired and it took too much effort. Phil remembered many of those days back when he and Nick were new to SHIELD.

Even though it was creeping past a decade when he and Nick first walked through the doors of the diner after their first mission, some things never changed. Nick always got the same burger every time they went there, regardless of the time of day. Phil was thinking now would be the perfect time for a cup of coffee, as the early morning sun streamed through the windows.

Nick sat in mostly stony silence except to order his food. It took a long moment before he finally spoke up, “So.”

Phil blinked, “So…?”

“You need a change of pace. I need you in the field,” explained Nick, “I’m going to lay it all on the table for you, since you are a friend. You are an excellent field commander. You have a singularly unique ability and that is the ability to make people listen to whatever it is you have to say. And you don’t do it because you yell the loudest or you are the biggest hardass of the bunch, you do it because you know how people think and you know how to speak to them in a way they understand. You create a positive environment for them. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

Phil nodded, realizing they were getting right to business right away, “Yes, sir.”

“If I could bottle that leadership and force-feed it to the other field crews, I would. It’s a gift. A gift that doesn’t come around very often.”

“Sir…”

“Don’t call me “sir” when we are sitting in a diner, having breakfast,” snapped Nick, “This isn’t official. If it was official, I would be speaking to you in my office, not here.”

“Nick,” Phil corrected himself, “I’m not saying I want to go away forever. I’m not saying I want a desk job. I’m not saying I don’t want to be involved. I’m just saying the time commitment is the only thing that has to change. It will only be for a couple of years, until Evelyn starts pre-school and I can safely leave her alone, supervised, during the day. So, yeah, long term missions are out now but I haven’t been on an long term team for some time anyway.”

Nick considered him carefully through his one good eye for a long moment. The waitress came and refilled their coffees and left. Nick let out a long sigh and dug through his briefcase, looking for something in particular.

“I told you before,” he said as he dug around, “We don’t really have a program for this sort of thing. But, you are a lucky son of a gun and we have a window of opportunity which could work if you are willing to do it.”

He pulled out a manila envelope stamped with the SHIELD insignia on the front. There was something written in an unintelligible scrawl across the front. Fury slid it across the table, narrowly evading the coffee mug.

“You probably know by now that Remora Long is retiring from recruitment and internships,” he explained, “Legally, I have to make a public offering because of equal opportunity stuff. However, I was hoping to hire internally. I need a veteran who really understands what SHIELD is and what we are looking for. Someone who doesn’t really know the organization, someone who hasn’t been here and experienced the whole process can’t represent us fairly. That’s why I feel comfortable offering this to you.”

Phil slid open the envelope and started to read the cover description. It was pretty standard fare. The job entailed establishing internships for non-security departments and organizing and promoting recruitment of new agents. Once the agents were recruited, he would have to organize background checks and assign them to a superior officer. It looked like an awful lot of work but it was more flexible hours and he could work from home as needed.

“It’s a shame to lose Remora,” noted Nick wistfully, “She was good. And she’s been running the thing like a clockwork machine since God knows when.”

“What happened to make her leave?”

“Her health. Her lung cancer is back. She decided she wanted to spend some time with family while she underwent treatment,” he sighed solemnly, “We’re hoping for the best.”

Phil nodded and continued to skim through the paperwork. The application was already in there and practically all filled out, just waiting for his signature. The decision was almost a no-brainer, he could hardly sign fast enough.

“Why me, Nick? Why this job?”

“Because of the way you acted around that little girl,” admitted Nick, “Don’t think I had forgotten just because I was gone. It’s a long-ass flight between here and Libya.”

“I’m… not sure I follow.”

“Look, it’s like I was saying about leadership. I want my field commanders to have it, I want my training officers to have it, but most important is the person who points them at the door. They have to be a leader. Because they set the tone for the rest of the experience. And that’s true if you are a high school, a major corporation or,” he pointed around the place, “A diner. Look, if the waitress waited ten minutes before giving you a menu, what would you say about the service around here?”

“I’d say the service was pretty lousy.”

“And even if the food was the best on earth, would you come back?”

“Not likely.”

“And, there’s your answer. You were right there for that little girl when nobody else was paying attention. And I know you, Phil, you’ve been like that forever and to all sorts of people. But you ever pull that defiant shit again while we are on the clock and I will drop you into a bottomless pit of red tape, understood?”

Phil nodded rapidly, his blood pressure already rising at the thought of all the paperwork. Time behind a desk, even hypothetical time behind a desk sent his stress levels into overdrive.

“The point is,” continued Nick, “If you are going to move around, I’d rather you move there than anywhere else. It’s the best place for you.”

“And this is my only real option?”

“It’s either this or sit and wait for something better,” said Nick, “And I can’t think of anything better.”

Phil took a deep breath. This was really a no brainer but he felt tense for being backed into making a quick decision, "I guess I'm in."

“Good,” said Nick as the waitress drew near with the hot food, “Then we’re done here. I’ll have you fill out paperwork when we get back. Two weeks notice and all that.”

“Fine,” shrugged Phil, he felt a bit wistful and tired. The anticipation of this meeting was far greater than the actual payoff.

“Do you want some more coffee?” asked the waitress, a pretty redhead with bushy bangs, bright makeup, and dozens of bangle bracelets.

“Yes, please,” said Phil.

She was gone with a tinkle of bracelets and a skip to her step. Nick looked back over his shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. He turned back to Phil with raised eyebrows. “She’s cute.”

“Not my type,” shrugged Phil.

“Yeah,” chuckled Nick, “You’re a bit more Marilyn than Madonna.”

Phil opened his mouth to say something but declined when he saw the girl walking back around with a pot of coffee. She refilled the cups and then retreated back to other parts of the restaurant. Nick looked up from his sandwich for a moment.

“When was the last time you’ve been on a date?” he asked.

“Been awhile,” admitted Phil, “Probably won’t go on many now that I have a new girl in my life.”

“What about the one chick in Peru… Columbia... wherever?”

“I really haven’t kept in touch,” admitted Phil sheepishly, “But then we had to leave kind of abruptly.”

“Civil unrest does that,” noted Nick.

Something caught the corner of Phil’s eye. Two men, dressed all in black with a woolen cap pulled tightly down over their foreheads. Wraparound shades blocked out their eyes. With a deep sigh, it became painfully obvious to Phil what was going on.

“It’s broad daylight,” commented Phil, “What exactly do you think two guys dressed all in black with ski caps are doing at this time of day in this kind of weather?”

Nick turned so he could see what was going on. He sighed, setting his burger down in dismay, “I think we have a rumble on our hands.”

It turned out to be exactly what they thought it would be. The two men entered and started spreading out. The waitress walked out into the front entrance and then shrieked. The three or four other people in the restaurant turned to see what was going on.

“Alright,” yelled the first man, waving something around in the air, “Nobody move, we are holding up this place until that cash register is emptied.”

Nick didn’t appear phased at all, “Man, what is it about us that makes us a magnet for this sort of thing? Wherever we go, things go sideways.”

Phil nodded placidly as he sipped his coffee. It was almost painfully hot, a fresh cup. There were perks to getting to the diner first thing in the morning. Nick continued as the waitress backed up and frantically began tapping on the cash register, trying to get it to open. One of the robbers was on the move.

“You have people who think they can just pick a fight wherever they go and nobody will lift a finger against them,” continued Nick, louder now, “It’s ridiculous. And it’s the sort of thing we have to deal with every day on a grand scale. All I want to do is sit and eat my burger and this sort of shit happens to get in the way.”

“Hand over your wallet, mate,” ordered one of the crooks, pointing something toward them.

Nick sighed deeply as he feigned for his wallet and turned to face Phil, “This is exactly the sort of bullshit I am talking about.”

Phil locked eyes with Nick for a long moment, understanding. Slowly, he reached out and tapped his coffee mug so it fell off the counter, landing right on the leg of the nearby crook. He yelped as the hot liquid hit him square in the thigh. Nick quickly stood and reached around and grabbed the man by the arm, pulling him into a suffocating headlock. He dropped whatever it was he was holding. Phil turned and drew his gun, pointing at at the other man as he stood, dumbstruck in front of the cash register. Phil smacked his chest with his free hand to activate the SHIELD emergency beacon.

“Robbing a diner in Washington DC in broad daylight,” scoffed Nick, turning to face the other man, “I didn’t think anyone would seriously be that dumb. Don’t you know that there are cops and bodyguards everywhere?”

“Aw, shit, man,” said the man as he turned toward the door, intending to sprint out and leave his buddy to the wolves.

“You really don’t want to do that,” said Phil, “Cops are already on the way. You would have, at most, thirty seconds to figure out what to do and I don’t think you are really all that smart.”

“Aw, shit,” the man swore again, “We don’t even have real guns!”

“I know it isn’t a real gun,” snapped Nick, “what kind of moron do you think I am? Put it down and sit down and I won’t have to send my friend here after you. His gun is very real.”

The SHIELD security beacon did it's job impeccably well as a swarm of cop cars was storming the building mere minutes after hitting the button.

“Check, please,” said Phil, holding up the tab for the waitress.

“This one’s on me,” said Nick over his shoulder, “Once I can let go of this punk.”

The wide-eyed waitress retreated back into the kitchen as a police unit burst through the front doors, guns drawn.  Phil lowered his weapon, setting it on the table, and then raised his hands in the air. Nick followed suit, dropping the air-starved crook to the floor and trying not to chuckle as he frantically crawled toward the cops, gasping for air.

It took several minutes worth of swapping badges and calling around to make sure everyone was legit and credentials checked out. Nick was still holding back a laughter as the two would-be thieves contemplated their awful luck from the back seat of a police car.

Nick was focused on the criminals but Phil found his eye drifting over to the waitress. She stood by the door holding her elbows and looking out over the scene. She trembled and it wasn’t because the wind off the river was unusually chilly.

Phil walked up to her, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she sniffled, “Just shaken. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.”

“Don’t worry, this stuff doesn’t happen too often,” comforted Phil, “You’ll be alright.”

“Thank you,” smiled the girl, her abundant makeup smeared from crying, “If there is anything I can do...”

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked over at Phil. Then turned back. Phil just smiled, “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

She smiled for a moment and then hugged him. Phil looked a bit dumbstruck for a moment and then returned the hug. The girl was still crying terribly and her makeup smeared all over the front of his suit. Normally, such an event would cause a state of panic but since he started having to wash baby drool out of his ties, a little mascara seemed like no big deal.

Eventually they were all cleared to go and the girl retreated back into the diner to do her job and pour coffee for the dozens of other people who would inevitably show up. He was sure he would be back sometime and he would have to check and see how she was doing. He and Nick walked back to the car.

“Phil,” Nick shook his head as they drew near the big Ford pickup Nick liked to drive in. It was big and cleared traffic so he never had to wait. Fury didn’t like to wait if he could do anything at all to help it. “You missed your big chance.”

“I said she wasn’t my type.”

Phil shut the car door and pulled the seat belt tight across his chest. Fury started the car and it roared to life with a powerful, souped up engine. There were some enviable perks to being senior rank and one of them was having any car you wanted and tricked out with more toys than James Bond’s Aston Martin.

"That didn't use to matter all that much."

"You get a kid, it changes your perspective on things."

"Nah," said Fury as he shifted the car into gear, “You’ve been like that for a while.”

Phil sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day, "You're right. I have been thinking about it for a while."

"Coulson?"

"I realized the other day that I’m going to be thirty next year. Scared the crap out of me to come to that realization. So, I've been thinking about, " he paused, "The future. My future. Like what I want out of life. And..."

"Let me guess, the cactus baby is part of the plan?"

"She is now. One way or another she was going to be someone's responsibility. May as well be mine because… this is what I want," he shrugged, “I’ve been wanting a family. By the time he was my age, my dad had been married to my mom for seven years. It feels like if I don’t do something now, it will never happen.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind. So it’s official?”

“It will be,” smiled Phil, “Everything should be stamped, sealed, and notarized by noon. Then it is just waiting for approval.”

“In that case, there is not much I can do to convince you otherwise. Let me tell you though, I am seriously going to miss shit like that,” chuckled Nick as they wove through traffic, “Fighting the bad guys one-on-one on the street like that. Takes me back to the early days.”

“Cairo?”

“Yeah,” Nick smirked, “Like Cairo. I was just thinking about that mission when I was back in Tripoli. That was a good time.”

“I wouldn’t call it a good time,” said Phil thoughtfully, “There were a lot of injured civilians.”

“No, not a good time,” admitted Nick, “But there was energy to it. I don’t want to say it was fun but…”

“It was sort of fun,” nodded Phil, “In the sense it was an adventure. And it’s somewhat addicting to be in the field and doing good, rescuing people, fighting right on the ground where it matters.”

They sat in silence for a long moment as their journey across the bridge came to a close. The Triskelion loomed nearer like a shining diamond against the blue of the sky and the river.

“Where is the cactus baby?”

“Maria is watching Evelyn,” stated Phil as they pulled out, “Back at work. I thought it was the safest place for her.”

“Probably is,” said Nick they drove past Nationals Park and made their way toward the bridge, “So, turn in your two weeks notice. Write it out for record’s sake. It will take us some time to go through the processes of interviews and things to appease the legal people as well as move someone up to fill your shoes. We’ll be in touch regarding what you need to do and when you will start.”

“Okay,” Phil said as the truck passed over the Anacostia River and pulled into the Triskelion parking. Fury waved his pass around but everyone already knew who he was. There were only so many people walking around SHIELD with an eye patch.

“I have meetings,” said Nick, “So I’ll be in touch later.”

“Right.”

“And Phil?” He turned to look back at Nick before they parted, “I’ll miss my good eye. But I’m glad this is going to work for you. I expect you to be back as my senior field officer by the time Cactus baby is in grade school.”

“Me too,” admitted Phil as he punched the elevator keys and traveled up to be reunited with his daughter.

 


	5. Baby Steps

“Come on, Evey,” he encouraged, holding the camcorder in one hand and a box of Fig Newtons in the other. “Come on, walk this way!”

“Block!” The little girl babbled and banged the wooden blocks together. Little bubble noises spilled out of her plump pink baby lips. She didn’t seem very interested in walking today. Building blocks were much more interesting than anything else.

“I know you are going to start walking as soon as I don’t have a camera,” he chuckled to himself, tucking the camcorder away in the bag. Evelyn looked up at him with big, copper eyes and shoved a block into her mouth. “Oh, don’t look so innocent. I know you can be mischievous.”

She slumped forward onto her stomach and giggled, crawling along on powerful legs toward the box of cookies. Phil scooped up the container before she could get to it.

“Cook-ie,” Evelyn whined but Phil didn’t back down.

“You get a cookie when you walk. That’s how it works,” explained Phil. Evelyn pouted but didn’t cry. She went back to her toys, banging the blocks together.

The black phone rang. Phil felt the hair on the back of his head stand up. He blinked. It wasn’t supposed to ring. That phone was on a separate line and only rang for SHIELD emergencies. Nervously, he answered.

“Agent Coulson?”

“Bobbi,” he sighed in relief, hearing Agent Morse on the other end of the line, “What can I do for you.”

“The Director needs you to come in. Something crossed his desk that requires your attention,” she explained. The messages were always deliberately vague just in case they were intercepted. Phone line securities have been improved but were by no means perfect.

“I’ll be running late,” he said. Actually, he would be right on time. That was just his way of being discreet. “I’ll drop by when I’m able.”

“Don’t be too late,” she warned.

 

Phil hung up and felt his shoulders slump. He switched to the main home line and dialed a familiar number. The phone almost rang out when it was finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Maria,” he sighed, “I was afraid you were still out.”

The young lady yawned on the other side of the line, “No, no. I got back last night.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Oh no. I was just getting out of the shower. What’s up?”

“Uh, well, I have some...errands to run,” he evaded, “I can’t take Evey with me. Would you be up to babysitting?”

Maria paused for a long moment before saying anything, “Can you give me some time to change? I need to take care of one or two things.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Phil rarely saw Maria in street clothes. She wore her SHIELD uniform with pride and kept it in top shape. When she showed up in a thick brown turtleneck sweater and light colored jeans, Phil had to do a double take.

“How’s Evelyn?”

“Come on in,” smiled Phil, offering her indoors, “She’s been playing.”

 

Evelyn dismissed the blocks in favor of a chunky wooden puzzle with farm animals. She sang a little goofy song to herself as she smashed the pieces together. When she saw Maria, her eyes glowed golden brown.

“Mar-ah! Hi!” she grinned, waving a hand up at her.

“Hi, Evelyn,” she smiled, kneeling down next to the girl, “What are you up to?”

“Blocks!” she grinned, holding up a puzzle piece to Maria for her to hold. Maria took it but quickly changed hands to wipe the excess baby drool onto her pant leg.

Phil set his bug-out bag near the door while he ran over the checklist of Evelyn’s things. “By the way. She has been sort of trying to pull herself up on chairs and things recently. I think she will be walking soon. If she does. I have the camcorder on the kitchen counter. Can you fire it up and catch a bit of it?”

“Sure,” shrugged Maria, “You think she’s ready to start running around?”

“Well, the baby books say she will start walking when she is nine to eighteen months. She’s about ten months now. So, that should be about time,” he bit his lip a bit, “I’m worried I’ll miss it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Do you have to go in?”

“Well, Bobbi says it is serious enough that Nick wants to talk to me. I don’t know how much time this will take. So, yes, I am concerned.”

 

His concern doubled when he found himself several hours later sitting in dense brush wondering what he was doing with his life. The warm evening devolved into dense sheets of rain. Phil took off his night vision goggles to shake off the water collecting in the nosepiece.

“Why am I here?” he bemoaned for a miserable moment. With a final dejected sigh, he shouldered his pack and jogged off into the birch forest, dodging logs and downed trees as he went. Mist lingered around the side of the hill, clinging to his waterproof jacket. His hair clung to his forehead, riddled with dry red pine needles. Chill dug its claws into his legs but he pushed on to meet the rest of the strike team.

Bobbi Morse jumped down from a tree to his left, tucking and rolling to keep pace with him. Her long blond hair flowed behind her like a flag. “Took you long enough.”

Phil didn’t reply, the mist cleared and revealed looming stone walls. Phil knelt in the underbrush behind a clump of ferns to better gauge the situation. Shadowy figures patrolled the top of the outside wall. Phil counted seven but supposed there could be more. A searchlight occasionally glanced along the outside perimeter, backlighting the soldiers inside. Phil could see a vague outline of a large gun. Any other buildings were not visible behind the thick protective wall.

 

“You know,” he chuckled mirthlessly, “it looks a lot bigger in person than it did in the satellite images.”

“I don’t see a door,” noted Bobbi, “This is definitely the front if we go by the satellite images. So…”

“When is a door not a door?” mused Phil.

“When it’s ajar,” Bobbi rolled her eyes, “Yes, I know that stupid joke.”

“It was worth a try,” mumbled Phil as he turned around and started back down the hill. It took Bobbi a moment to see he had gone but she followed.

“What do you see?”

“Did you notice that the grade of the slope increased about twenty meters back?”

“No, I was doing recon from the trees.”

“Well, if you had been on ground level and not climbing through the trees like a monkey,” he whispered, holding a hand up to indicate silence, “You may have noticed that this hill got much more difficult to climb. If I’m right…”

He stopped talking when a shadow moved on the far side of the hill. Phil jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, backing up and disappearing into the lean trees. A long trek around revealed a guard station and a side door, protected by a bank of earth. Barely visible against the blackness, a metal door shone in the dim light.

Phil grinned and whispered, “A door isn’t a door when it’s a tunnel. They hid the door by building up the earth on this side and carving a tunnel. That way you couldn’t find the way in by looking at it from above. You have to stumble on it.”

“How on earth did you figure that out?”

“If I'm running uphill, I want to know why," he waved her away, "Can you get closer?"

"Sure," she crouched and scuttled up a tree like a spider. Phil lost her lean form as it darted through the trees. If she made any noise, Phil couldn't hear it over the roar of the deluge.

His windbreaker did little to keep the rain from getting in. Water dripped down his sleeves and onto his fingertips. A hot prickle raced along his spine. His heart took off like a rocket as he darted behind a tree, pressing up against the papery bark. The rain pounded around him but he listened between the raindrops.

 

Leaves crunched just beyond the trees. He took a deep breath and looked around the side. Two big guys with big guns marched along the path, silhouetted by the searchlight. The cold metal of their firearms glinted in the cold light. Phil held his breath lest a puff of condensation alert them to his presence. Grumblings and groaning of indiscernible voices bounced between raindrops but the individual words were lost. They lumbered on into the dense brush, looping around the facility. As Phil became acquainted with his breath, he almost missed Bobbi’s feather light steps in the rain.

"I see two guards at the tunnel and two groups of two circling the place. There are another ten on the upper rim but their visibility is limited from the rain. Our real concern is the ground troops. Our receiver is set up so we can go ahead and begin transmitting the video feed any time."

"Good. Let’s get the body cams on," he said, tapping a button on his wrist, "we need to get in, survey the scene, and figure out exactly who and what we are dealing with."

"See why they are snapping up recruits faster than we are and sending them to questionable locations," she said, activating her own camera.

“I don’t like it when smart kids go off to Afghanistan to get shot for someone else’s war,” muttered Phil, “I say we go after the next patrol. That will give us the widest window possible to work.”

 

So they waited in the silent shadows. Bobbi donned her night vision shades and leapt into the tree. Phil kept low to the ground and crawled up the muddy incline through the forest floor.  Cold, wet leaves, fallen ferns, and twigs camouflaged him, affixed with smears of rotting bark and mud. He dodged the blue-white spotlight as it wove through the gathering mist like a ghost. His heart punched against his ribs as the crunch of leaves circled back around. He exhaled only when the stomping became less pronounced. White puffs of moisture swirled in front of his eyes.

He pulled a spike out of an inner pocket and stabbed it into the damp earth. The vibration sensor picked up nothing but the lazy rumble of the two guards below them. Satisfied they were alone; Phil nodded across the hill to where Bobbi crouched in shadow. She pulled down a breather mask and pulled the pin from a smoke grenade. Phil mirrored the motion, pulling his own mask over his mouth and nose. The air smelled stale but he would be safe from most gas agents. The gas was intended to knock out the guards and induce temporary global amnesia. SHIELD borrowed the formula from the CIA.

A pale pink haze smelling of burnt sugar lingered around the entrance when Phil and Bobby slipped into the dim amber light. Rifling through their pockets, Phil uncovered two key cards and a data disk. Bobbi borrowed borrowed a guard's fingerprints to crack the biometric lock.

“Hurry,” whispered Phil, “They’ll come back around.”

Already he could hear faint movements among the muck. The latch clanked and the door groaned in protest as it opened. Bobbi darted into the crack, gun drawn in precaution. Phil grabbed one of the guards by the shoulders and dragged him into the entrance. He doubled back for the other while Bobbi ventured ahead to scout the terrain. With the sleeping guards out of sight, he pressed his hands against the frigid metal door and forced it shut with a pronounced thud. Beyond the wall, stomping feet of the next patrol proceeded along. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“How long,” he whispered.

Bobbi holstered her pistol, “Fifteen minutes. Maybe a bit less.”

There wasn’t even time to discuss what to do. They took off down the concrete hall on silent feet. The highly polished floors shone under glaring ochre incandescent lights. All the while, his eyes shot around the hall, watching for odd shadows, cameras, or anything that might get in their way. One such shadow crept around a corner. Phil grabbed Bobbi by the back of her jacket, jerking her back.

“Whu-?”

Phil wordlessly doubled back and threw open one of the doors. Greased hinges swung open without a noise. They hurried inside the dark room, sliding the door behind him closed. Phil winced at the click of the latch. He held the knob, hands seeping with sweat. Thudding footsteps beyond the door paced forward and backward. Phil held his breath. As suddenly as the footsteps arrived, they dissipated into silence.

Bobbi stood in the shadows, looking out the large windows. Silhouettes of exercise equipment, backlit by the searchlights, loomed in the darkness. Chrome glinted in the harsh blue light. Phil joined her, looking over the manicured inner lawn.

“Remind you of anything?” she asked.

“Basic training,” grumbled Phil, “I’m having flashbacks of endless pushups at SHIELD training.”

“Uncanny, right?” her night vision goggles whirred. “This was going to be an Army base but they had to stop construction because they ran out of money. Based off of every camp I’ve been in, the administration offices would be right there.”

She pointed off to the far side of the compound. A harsh blue light emanated from another bank of windows. Phil considered his watch, pondering if they had the time to make it over to the opposite end.

“We have to cut through the field,” he sighed, “Otherwise we will never make it all the way over there and back in time.”

“You’re the boss.”

 

It didn’t take long before Phil regretted his choice. Crawling on his forearms across the wet grass. The searchlights scanned the sky and scoured the ground. His heart raced the duration of the trip. As the knife edge of the light drifted in front of his face, he thought his pulse throbbing in his temples would make his head explode. Bobbi drifted in and out of sight, skipping through the curtains of rain. Dirt crept into his clothes, gathering in his armpits and along the line of his belt. The muddy, sticky feeling clung to his skin as they slipped in an open window and into the hall. His feet, wet from the grass, slid on the polished floor.

When he turned the corner, a lone guard all in black stood in the buzzing light. Phil held up a hand to signal Bobbi to stop. Taking a deep inhale, Phil crept forward. His breath let out slowly through his teeth in an indiscernible hiss. The guard appeared unaware of their presence, wandering down the hall with his back to the pair. Phil stepped up behind him and his wet shoe squeaked. The guard turned a fraction but Phil was faster. He clamped his arms around the taller man’s neck and squeezed.

“Go to… sleep,” muttered Phil in a low voice, “Now… please.”

The man eventually slumped and Phil caught him by his shoulders so he could lower the dead weight to the ground. That being done, he beckoned to Bobbi.

“You’re good at that.”

Phil smiled, “I’ve had some practice putting people to sleep.”

She shook her head at him and then pocketed her night goggles. The guard stood in front of a door. It was thick reddish brown wood and brass hinges, a contrast to the utilitarian concrete they encountered up to this point.

“This is the place. I bet it’s alarmed.”

“Among other things,” muttered Phil, pulling a gunmetal gray box from an inner pocket of his jacket. He held the sensor against the wall and pressed the button. A few seconds later, a faint image appeared on the fluorescent green screen. “There’s a static camera in the upper right corner. We need to avoid that.”

“Anything else?”

“Hold on,” he paused, moving the box around, “The walls are thick. The signal is not getting through well. There is something else to the left. Maybe a motion sensor?”

“I’ll be careful,” said Bobbi, cracking her knuckles.

The door opened a fraction and she slid in. Phil watched on screen as the lean outline shuffled along the wall. She ducked under something and then raced across the room. Something beeped inside and then Bobbi called all clear.

 

Inside, the motion sensor rested, inert, on the table. Phil followed her footsteps and dodged the video camera. They stood, pressed up against the far wall. A large reinforced metal door dominated the far wall, a ten-key pad embedded in the middle.

“I think there is something important here,” she smiled with a sing-song voice, “Otherwise why bother with the Fort Knox setup?”

Phil shuffled around his pockets again, pulling out a pen. The narrow beam of red light traced over the keys, illuminating the greasy fingerprints. He smiled.

“We have one, five, nine… zero,” he said, “How many combinations is that?”

“Too many. Hold on,” she took the pen from him and scanned the numbers again, “Zero is the brightest and five is the faintest. Let’s try… 0-1-9-5.”

The door buzzed and the inner workings clanked and thudded. Bobbi grinned, “First try!”

Phil pulled the door open. Office lights flickered on. His heart trembled in anticipation. Even though it looked like a boring office, boring offices held many dirty little secrets. Boring offices held records, paperwork, and official documents. He readied his micro camera.

Bobbi stood guard while he shifted through paperwork, looking for anything that might be interesting. A few financial ledgers and profiles seemed of interest, picking and choosing as he went for the sake of time. His eyes passed over the heavy metal placard on the front of the desk. The embossed letters spelled out “Taskmaster.”

“I know a couple of drill sergeants who deserved that name,” chuckled Phil to himself as he shifted through papers. One in particular seemed to be a land deed. Another was an accounts receivable book. He filed both of these among the other documents.

Red lights flashed. Phil dropped the paper in his hands. A klaxon alarm began blasting from the inside of the camp. Bobbi poked her head in the room, a frown across her face.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Phil raised his hands defensively, “Was it the guy I knocked out?”

“He’s still out,” she said. “It… could have been the two guys at the gate. The knockout could have worn off early.”

“Okay,” Phil pocketed the camera, “We have to run.”

“Where?” she snapped.

“There has to be a fire escape or some sort of emergency exit,” said Phil, “They wouldn’t make the facility a death trap.”

Or maybe they would. He considered the possibility when he heard the metallic clang of security doors clanging shut. In the hall, metal blinds slammed down over the external windows. The tourniquet tightened.

“What about roof access?” considered Bobbi.

“We don’t have an evac,” countered Phil, “Unless you are suggesting we jump.”

“Do we have another option?”

Phil sighed. He didn’t fancy a leap into the trees from a fourth story. He considered the layout of the giant octagonal building, trying to deduce where the stairwells were located. They already surveyed most of the east side of the building so any staircase needed to be to the area they had yet to encounter in the west. He took off running, hoping to make an escape before the place became full of soldiers. A shadow passed over behind them.

 

“Hey!” Bobbi yelled. Phil spun around on his heel. She sent an elbow flying into a shadowy figure. He countered, sending Bobbi flying against a wall, a golden blur. Phil blinked. The shadow closed in.

Phil’s hand twitched toward his service gun. Before he could react, Bobbi leapt from the ground and onto the shadowy figure’s back. She caught him around the neck and latched on.

“I got this! Get us outta here!” she bellowed at Phil before the figure swung her over his head like an angry bronco bucking a cowboy. Bobbi landed on her feet but something cracked. As Phil took off down the hall, he hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

Finding a stairway was out of the question. Metal containment doors cordoned off the building. The only hope was to find a way to break through the metal slats over the windows. Phil’s eyes raced to figure out the mechanical system. Long metal pins held the slats in place so they could not be moved unless they were electronically disengaged. He frowned. There had to be a way to break the pins.

Turning back to Bobbi, she didn’t appear to be exactly winning. Phil blinked. Every move she made was countered fluidly. When she switched tactics, it only allowed her to squeeze in one good hit. She was getting pummeled

“Bobbi, hold on!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” she yelled as he threw open a door marked ‘janitor.’

“Please be something, please be something,” he muttered looking around the small closet. His eyes fell on a familiar red box on the wall. He slammed his elbow through the glass and pulled out a fire axe. “That works.”

He grabbed the fire extinguisher on the way out. A vague plan formed in his mind although he wasn’t sure how well it would work. Feigning confidence, he tossed the fire axe down and readied the extinguisher’s hose.

“Bobbi! DUCK!” he yelled before spraying the area with a thick foamy fog. The surprise was enough to throw their attacker off balance. Phil took his window, unsure of how long it would last. He readied his arm and swung the heavy metal can. Metal connected with the side of the attacker’s head and sent him reeling.

“Hold this,” he ordered Bobbi while he ran back to the fire axe. She kept the nozzle aimed right at the dazed man’s head. A strange look passed over Bobbi’s face and she lowered the extinguisher a fraction of an inch. Her mouth formed the words ‘no way’ but the sounds failed to materialize.

Phil ignored everything in favor of aiming the heavy axe directly at the offending pin. He pulled his arm back and swung. Metal connected with metal with a clang and a screech. The metal pin required two more square hits before it collapsed and the metal slats fell to the floor with an echoing clatter.

“Gimmie that,” demanded Phil, taking the extinguisher from Bobbi’s hands and hurling it out the window in one swift motion. Time slowed to a standstill. Phil could see each shard of glass break apart as the red metal can made contact with the pane. Large gleaming knives of glass exploded toward Phil’s face. He had only a moment to hold an arm up in defense to prevent his face from becoming a Picasso. A large fragment drew across his extended arm, a red line tracing its path. A sharp sensation raced along his arm and an ooze of blood felt warm against his hand. Outside a hail of bullets began puncturing the pressurized canister, sending spurts of foam into the trees in graceful arcs.

Phil grabbed Bobbi around her waist and followed the extinguisher out the window. The figure managed to wobble to a standing position and reached toward the pair as they passed through the open window and into the night. Phil saw the hand draw near Bobbi’s ankle. He turned, kicked, and something crunched. Then they were falling.

 

Everything suddenly appeared to move faster in Phil’s eyes. Bobbi clung to the tree like a koala while he slid unceremoniously onto a branch. They had to keep moving. Phil slid to the back side of the tree, to protect himself from the periodic pop of automatic gunfire. Bobbi joined him.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper.

She shook her head, “I think I was hit.”

His heart stopped beating, “Badly?”

“No. In my leg. It hurts but…”

“Can you make it to camp? Should I call for backup?”

She took a deep breath, her hand reaching around to the blossom of blood on her calf. “If I stop moving, then I will start to think about it and it will get worse.”

Phil slid down from the tree and then helped Bobbi down. Behind them, chaos echoed against the night sky and alarms blared, red lights streaming into the midnight forest. Bobbi limped along, supported by Phil.

“Did you recognize him?” she gritted her teeth as the noise dissipated into the soft sounds of the woods.

“Who?” he asked

“The man in the hall,” she said, “It was Masters.”

Phil flinched, “No. It can’t be.”

She shook her head, “I went through SHIELD training with him as my drill sergeant. I will never forget the man who dragged my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to do pushups in the mud. You don’t forget that person.”

Phil nodded, “You’re not wrong. But what is a SHIELD agent doing running a paramilitary camp in the middle of the woods in an abandoned facility?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” she muttered as they drew near the distant glow of floodlights and the familiar milling of SHIELD agents.

 

Tiredness settled into his bone and lingered for the entire helicopter ride back to base. A medic on the chopper tended to Bobbi’s wounded leg. The metallic stench of blood lingered in the air but Phil was beyond the point of being repulsed by it. Phil tended to the cut on his arm. The wound drew blood but lacked significant depth. A touch up of gauze bandage was enough to stanch the blood flow. Another scratch adorned his forehead, narrowly missing his eye. He thanked his lucky stars that his guardian angel was still on duty.

Nick was talkative when he debriefed with Phil via satellite phone. However, Phil couldn’t find the same enthusiasm, stifling yawns as much as he spoke. The sun began to peak over the Potomac River. Purple tendrils of light tickled the underside of the stormy clouds. Pink light illuminated the faraway horizon. It was the start of a new day.

“Has Bobbi told you her theory?” he hesitated before his apartment door, “About Masters?”

“She has.”

“And?”

“And I trust her opinion but we need more concrete evidence. Fortunately for you, the ATF are planning on raiding the property because those guns you photographed during surveillance aren’t supposed to be there. There are actually no assault rifles registered to anyone on the paperwork. Someone has explaining to do. That someone may very well be Masters.”

“What happened to him? He just dropped off the map!”

“He up and quit about two years ago after we were investigating some old bunkers in East Berlin. Medical records state he suffered a nasty chemical burn. He didn’t stick around long enough for us to gather data.”

“So he just left? Out of nowhere?”

“We don’t hold people prisoner, Coulson. It’s a job, not a life sentence. Otherwise your little cactus baby wouldn’t be sitting pretty.”

“Don’t call her that,” chuckled Phil as he pulled his bag up the stairs, “She has a name.”

“I know. But she is always cactus baby to me because she’s a pain in my side!”

“Be nice, please,” pleaded Phil.

"Whatever you say. Is there anything I need to know about before everything becomes official? Personal or property damage, for example?" asked Nick.

Phil froze with his key part way in the front door of the apartment complex. "No, not really. Well, actually, there's a broken window which may need explaining."

"A broken window? How-" Nick paused on the other end of the line. "You know what? Never mind. I'll just read the report later. You're lucky we found that ATF loophole during your recon. It might save your ass and keep us from getting sued.”

"Well, good. I don't want to waste my good suit on legal hearings.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Oh, and Nick,” Phil remembered, “We need to send that CIA knockout gas back to the drawing board. It’s not working.”

“Well, consider the source. These are the people who thought LSD would be a good interrogation drug.” Phil could practically hear Nick’s sardonic eye roll. “I’ll get our tech boys to start tweaking it. Anything else you need?”

“Nope,” yawned Phil and checked his watch. It showed that it was 7:30am, “I’m going to get some sleep. Is it a problem if I take today off?”

“Nah. Just bring in the report in on Monday.”

 

When he hung up, Phil sighed. In the field, everything happened in rapid succession so there was no spare moment to contemplate your tiredness. It was only when things slowed down fatigue. He dropped his bag onto the kitchen counter next to where Maria leaned against the kitchen counter sipping coffee.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

Phil shrugged his shoulder, “Could be better, could be worse. We had to make a quick escape but we got what we needed. It’s sort of a successful failure. Sorry for having you camp over. How’s Evelyn?”

“No problem. She’s been trying to walk,” explained Maria, “But not quite there yet. I thought there was a wobble about a half hour ago but-”

Evelyn made a baby sound, her pudgy hands pressed against the side of the armchair. Her legs wobbled, but did not collapse. Phil scrambled for the camcorder from the bag, praying that he could boot it up in time.  Maria’s mouth hung open in surprise.

“Come on, Evey,” he whispered, crouching down to her height, “Come to Papa.”

The little girl took a hesitant step forward, her hand resting against the armchair. Phil held his breath as she took another step. She let go of the armchair and plodded forward two more steps. She stood, smiling in the center of the floor. Phil smiled, handing the camcorder to Maria.

“Good girl,” he opened his arms, “Come here.”

She wobbled in place but steadied herself. She took three more distinct steps before dropping into Phil’s arms. She giggled when he fluffed her hair. He kissed her head murmuring, “Good girl Evelyn. You’re a good girl.”


	6. Impending Doom

“Papa!”

Phil sighed as he stuffed papers into his bag. He should be happy that Evelyn figured out speaking as well as she did but it led to his attention being continually yanked away from whatever he was doing to figure out exactly what she was trying to say. If he ignored her for too long, his three year old would keep repeating herself until he finally commented.

“Papa? Papa? Paaaaaapaaaaaaah?”

“Yes, Evelyn?”

“Play?” she smiled, holding up her wooden blocks for him. They were little pieces of hardwood painted bright colors. They were well loved and some even had bite marks from back when Evelyn was figuring out the purpose of teeth.

“I can’t play today, Evelyn, sorry,” he said wistfully.

“Why?” she cocked her little head to the side.

“I have to go to work.”

“Why?”

“Nick said I have to,” he explained, “So it must be important.”

“Oh.”

“You get to stay with Bobbi until I get back,” explained Phil, “Can you be a good girl for Bobbi until I get back?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, holding a little blue cube between her hands as an unfinished tower wobbled slightly. Phil couldn’t help but feel like he had broken something. He didn’t normally pass up a chance to play with her but this was different. Carefully, he knelt down next to her.

“How about we play when I get back? Is that okay?”

“Okay,” she said, putting the cube down on the ground.

“Let’s gather your things,” said Phil, “So when Bobbi gets here, you will be ready.”

"Okay," Evelyn wobbled over to her bookshelf, picking out a title with a well worn spine. It was "The Adventures of Captain America." She held the colorful cover up to him.

“Captain America!” she giggled, “You’re Captain America!”

Phil couldn’t help but swell up with a little bit of pride at that. He had read the old picture books and comics back when he was a little kid. He passed his old copies on to Evelyn. Somehow she got it into her head when he had to leave, he was off being Captain America. Although it wasn’t exactly true, he let her believe it. She would find out the truth when he was older. Secretly, he was flattered.

Agent Morse showed up at the door about thirty minutes later. Evelyn went toddling toward her, smiling, “Bobbi!”

“Hi,” she opened her arms and allowed the little girl to run into her arms, “How are you, kiddo?”

“Good!”

“Good,” she smiled, ruffling the girl’s fluffy hair, “How are you, Phil?”

“Doing fine,” he said, “In a hurry. Fury is pulling me back into the field.”

“That’s odd,” Morse frowned, “Why would he do that? You’ve been in the office for a while now.”

“Not really in the office,” corrected Phil, bristling a bit, “I’ve been out recruiting and working with the academy.”

“Well,” sighed Morse, “Okay, I meant that you haven’t been on missions in quite some time. It just seems weird for you to be brought in on this sort of thing.”

“Fury was a bit shy on details. I have to wait for the briefing. We’ll see,” he picked up Evelyn’s backpack and handed it to Morse, “Here’s her stuff. Her clothes, pj’s, and some story books and toys. She likes to have a book read before she goes to bed. Uh, no later than 9:00 bedtime. She is getting the hang of potty training but sometimes she needs to be reminded to use the restroom so just ask her if she looks antsy.”

“Okay,” said Morse, tucking the backpack under her arm, “Pretty standard fare.”

“If you have questions or there is an issue, call the office,” he said nervously, “I’m going to be out of touch but they might be able to help or patch you through. I really don’t know what I am doing.”

“It’s okay,” reassured Morse, ‘I’ve been in that boat too.”

Phil sighed and knelt down to Evelyn, who was far too busy sucking her thumb to be perturbed by the grown-up discussion going on around her. He ruffled her hair, “Honey, I’m going to go now but Bobbi is going to take care of you. I’ll try and call tonight if I can. If I don’t make it tonight, I’ll call tomorrow. Okay?”

She looked up with doe eyes, “Okay, Papa.” she smiled at him. He kissed her cheek, told her he loved her, said thanks to Bobbi and left.

-

Stepping back into the briefing room brought back memories. The slate colored walls disguised several layers of soundproofing. Heavy navy blue carpet also keep noise levels down. What happened in the briefing room stayed in the briefing room. Faded smudges stained the small kitchenette. Whenever feet trod over the area, the bitter aroma of old coffee wafted into the air. Twelve or fifteen agents milled around, exchanging files and speaking in hushed tones. Some of them looked young. Fresh faces with wide eyes taking in every inch of the small room. Nick and Maria fiddled with an overhead projector, trying to get it to work. Phil held the file close to his chest and walked forward.

“Hi Maria, Director,” he said softly.

“Phil,” Maria stood straight forward, dead into Phil’s eyes in the thousand-yard stare of a hardened agents, “You smell like fruit loops.”

Phil cracked a smile, “Goes with the job.”

“Thank you for coming, Coulson,” interjected Nick, “I know this is not really your job anymore but we have very extraneous circumstances at play here.”

“I’d like to know why I am in the field when I transferred out, sir,” said Phil carefully.

“This is an ‘all hands on deck’ type of situation here,” said Nick, “I’ll explain more as soon as we get this damn thing to work. Sorry to be vague but it is sensitive.”

Nick’s eyes traveled over Phil’s shoulder. He turned, following the director’s gaze. Victoria Hand, a shadow within a shadow, stood by the door with her long maroon-tipped hair rippling in front of her face. Phil felt his blood chill, knowing Hand was called in. A weight settled in his stomach which refused to dissolve even after a cup of strong coffee.

“Alright everyone,” announced Nick to start the meeting, “We have a mess on our hands.”

He paused for a long moment to let that sink in. Most people appeared some mixture of curious and confused. The weight in Phil’s stomach sank even further. Nick cleared his throat and continued.

“This is potentially very awkward for SHIELD and could end up with real problems if it gets out of hand which is why I have specifically requested each and everyone one of you to be here,” he took a deep breath, “We have a rogue agent.”

A groan circulated around the group and Phil was one of the ones groaning. Rogue agents could be anyone and they could do anything. They had all the resources but none of the sense. It was the worst case scenario.

The Director motioned for Hand to join him in front, “This is Agent Hand from level 8, she is well accustomed to handling catastrophes.”

“Agent Clovis Hirsch is our rogue agent,” said Hand, her words short and clipped. She got right down to business and skipped the preamble. Nick pulled out the first transparency and slapped in on the overhead projector. Hirsch had a wide face and dark eyes. His dark hair was cut close to his large ears. “Escaped Latveria in 1975 and officially became a US Citizen in 1977. Former Army ranger. He’s been part of SHIELD since 1981 and among our upper ranks since 1984. You may know him as Coulson’s replacement.”

Coulson noticed that he was now being observed by a various number of agents. He straightened in his chair.

Hand continued, “He went AWOL after getting off a plane at Washington Dulles International Airport. The satellite tracking device in his gear went dark while he was in the general vicinity of the Latverian Embassy. We got a visual on him from a security camera across the road scaling the fence into the embassy.”

“Has Latveria said anything?” asked a voice in the back.

“Not yet. But they will,” informed Nick,” It goes without saying that anything having to do with Latveria is going to be rough. Victor Von Doom is the current dictator and has been so for the past twelve years. The international community is rightfully uneasy about any sort of dictatorship. For that matter, the Soviets aren’t very happy about him either. It’s not common knowledge but you should know that the Soviet Union is not exactly pleased with him elbowing his way forcefully into the iron curtain and somehow managing to hold his ground despite their best efforts to deter him. They’re definitely concerned. For that matter, we’re concerned.”

“I have a question,” noted some agent Phil recognized from training, “If this guy is so horrible and everyone is scared of him, how did he manage to get an embassy here in DC? Just down the road, even?”

“Well,” said Fury, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “That is the sort of thing that I would like to know as well. Unfortunately, it’s not a part of our business to know, it’s the State Department’s. Until they feel like sharing the information with us in a way that doesn’t involve giving us the runaround, I don’t have a good answer to that question.”

“I think the bigger question,” Phil considered aloud, “Is what is Hirsch doing in the Latverian embassy in the first place?”

Nick frowned and pulled out another transparency. It was a family photo. A curly haired woman held a small girl with matching curly hair and dark eyes. The girl couldn’t have been older than eight years old.

“For the past four years Hirsch has been working with us to get his family out of his homeland of Latveria. His brother, Oswald, is a journalist. He has been publishing articles about the conditions inside the country. You may have read the latest installment in the New York Times. Latveria is not happy with him. To make things even better, his wife, Matrisse, may or may not be working for the Patriotic Latverian freedom fighter group. We aren’t sure because she hasn’t told us. Even if she was, she might not broadcast that fact since doing so is painted red concentric circles on your chest for Doom to aim his firing squad at. They have a daughter named Elza, she’s the young one in this picture. We suspect that Hirsch may have found a way to get them out of Latveria and now they are somewhere here. His latest communications indicate as much.”

Nick paced the silent room for a moment. He finally looked up and met the eyes of every person in the briefing. Hand took a deep breath, “If we are going to do anything, we have to work fast. As of now, Hirsch has not defected to Latveria. We are technically within our rights to go into the embassy and retrieve him for disciplinary action. However, if he at any time petitions for sanctuary by Latveria, we have to leave immediately. We are also, under no circumstances, allowed to retrieve any member of his family if they are there.”

Someone in the back raised a hand, “What if they are defecting to America?”

“Then they have to do it in regular nine to five business hours. We aren’t Hirsch’s personal attack dog,” insisted Hand.

“We already have surveillance teams on site,” explained Fury, “Hand will be supervising that branch of the operation. Those of you who are going with her can leave now for your posts. She will provide any further briefing you will need.”

Phil was disappointed to see Maria leave with a flood of other agents. The room felt empty. Nick waited for the door to close before continuing.

“So now that the strike team is assembled, we can talk logistics,” he said, putting a map on the projector, “The Latverian embassy is far too large to tackle with one team in the time we have so you will need to split up and clear each floor. Coulson and May will take the ground floor. Johnson and Derickson will be on second. Avory and Shah are in control of the third. Parker will be on ground floor ballroom to serve as a medic and communications backup. Your job is to find Hirsch and gather any intel regarding him and his family. If we are going to be going back in for the family, we need to know what exactly we are getting into.”

“What’s our entrance plan?” asked May. Phil smiled at the sight of her. He recruited her a year and a half ago and she showed a good deal of promise.

“The Latverian embassy, by law, cannot have military security. So, we are dealing with rent-a-cops here,” Nick held back a chuckle. “So we don’t need to be especially stealthy. Our entry point is a side door. This door dumps right into the main ballroom so Parker can set up and everyone can take the stairs to their proper destinations. Keep an eye open for security but we are only picking up three on the premises and two are outside. You will need to watch out for the nightly cleaning crew and other personnel. Do not engage.”

“What happens when we find Hirsch?” asked Phil, “Chances are, he isn’t going to come willingly.”

“You are free to apprehend him for disciplinary action if he does not leave on his own accord,” answered Nick, “Do what you need to do. However, try to be as subtle as possible. We’re not here to create a stink if we don’t have to. Now, if we have no further questions, we have things to do.”

Once orders were given out, Phil went over to Nick. The director saw him coming. ”I know you want to chat about why I brought you in.”

“Yes sir. You didn’t explain much in the briefing. The current group of agents for this mission is more than enough to handle the rouge situation. Why did you ask me?”

“I don’t feel comfortable bringing in fresh blood to the strike team because of how sensitive this thing is. I need someone who can treat this with some delicacy. Furthermore, because you are a higher up, he might be willing to trust you,” said Fury in an undertone.

“I got out of combat for valid reasons,” insisted Phil, “Not just because I don’t like the smell.”

“Yes, your cactus baby. I know,” sighed Nick. “This is an exception, Coulson. Not the rule. I promise. Now, get on a bus.”

The helicopter ride to the middle of the city did not take long at all. Swarms of SHIELD agents set up in the perimeter. Every inch of the embassy appeared dotted with lasers and sensors. Parker sat at the surveillance table next to Maria, a large pair of headphones pulled over his ears. He smiled when Phil drew near. May already took up her post near the gate, a stoic figure among the frazzled nerves of the rest of the team.

“We’re about ready,” Parker said, throwing a shaky thumbs up in Phil’s direction, “Just waiting to finish the satellite scans. Our bird will be passing over any minute. Then we are totally set to go.”

“Do we know for sure the locations of people in the building?”

“Our heat scans are inconclusive because of the old steam heating system. They have the internal temperature cranked up for some reason,” said Maria.

“Is Doom anywhere around?” Phil tried not to betray his nervousness in his voice.

“We don’t have any proof that Doom is on the premises,” noted Parker, “Flight records say the Imperial Plane has touched down but we have yet to make a positive sighting of the main man. We have some weird irregularities within the building grounds but nothing conclusive. Maria touched upon the issue with the heat. We’re also picking up some weird radio waves. But that could just mean someone has a nice stereo or a police scanner. The problem is that Doom has kept Latveria sealed like shrink wrap so we don’t know what kind of technology or weapons they have.”

“Great,” grumbled May, “So we are completely blind.”

“There is also a lot of local rumor and speculation that Doom is a powerful magician and experimenting with combining sorcery with weapons technology.”

“Come on,” scoffed Phil, “Magic?”

Maria shrugged, “Laugh it off. But there is a somewhat logical explanation for the rumor.”

Phil snickered, “I would love to hear it.”

“The last known census in the area which is currently Latveria had a high percentage of Romany people,” noted Maria, “Along with various other nomadic groups that we would collectively call ‘gypsies.’ There is a rich history and very active magical culture dating all the way back to at least Rome. I think there is a very good possibility that Doom is using local folklore and superstition to boost his own power. If nothing else, it offers up an explanation as to why people are scared of him.”

“I think that sounds a hell of a lot more plausible than real magic,” noted Phil, “How long til we move?”

“Aerial scans are complete. Data is transmitting. We should get ready.”

The side door opened without protest. Wordlessly, SHIELD agents flooded in and took up positions on all three floors. Phil crept along, May at his heels. His fingers glanced over the oak paneled walls, feeling for vibrations. The golden thread running through the forest green tapestries sparkled in the amber cloche sconces which lined the walls. Heavy fabric shifted back and forth with puffs of hot air from the vents. Sweat pooled around Phil’s collar.

May peeked into one room, a massive ballroom, while Phil covered the door. Sweat started to drip down his temple and he brushed it away. The hall felt stifling. He yearned for a gulp of clean air. When he commented on it, May shot him a look.

“It’s an old steam heating system,” she whispered, “It may be faulty.”

Phil watched as sweat pooled on May’s brow. “They could be doing it on purpose. To get us to leave.”

‘That seems needlessly complicated,” insisted May. She looked up and down the hall, “This will take forever. I’ll cover the east and north sections if you take this hall and the south.”

“You sure that’s smart?’ Phil’s hand started to reach toward his hip, but then remembered his holster wasn’t on his person, just in case of accidents. “We don’t know what all is here. If one of us got in a jam, we would be on our own.”

“We’re adults. We can handle ourselves. Also, we’re in an embassy. What kind of shit can we get into?”

Phil sighed, “You’d be surprised.”

Reluctantly, the pair split up. Phil began walking down the hall while May ran ahead. Her footsteps echoed up and around the hall. His own feet tapped against the parquet flooring. Every slight noise compounded with the returning echo.

The heat didn’t abate as he cleared each room. His shirt clung to his skin under the bulletproof vest and the warm scent of sweat wafted through the air. The dark green tapestries reached up toward the roof. The crown molding seemed to grow farther away. The roof extended farther upward, like the room was growing, or he was shrinking. Phil turned, looking down the hall toward the center foyer. The hall stretched out and simultaneously raced up to meet him. Putting one foot in front of the other took a tremendous amount of effort. A gripping sensation surrounded his legs, as though quicksand pulled him down, toward some dark place.

He stopped in the middle of the hall, resting his hands on his knees. His heart punched in his chest. Dizziness overwhelmed his senses to the point where his eyes could not focus on any one thing. The sound of footsteps surrounded him, smothering him.

“Breathe,” he ordered himself, slamming his eyes closed so the blackness of his eyelids blocked out the blurry images rushing in front of his eyes. As suddenly as the dizziness enveloped him, it dissipated. He stood, tentatively taking a few steps down the hall. Feeling better, he hurried into the center foyer.

The rotunda was massive. The lower walls were coated with green damask wallpaper. The golden moulding was adorned with statues of pudgy cherubs holding scrolls and cornucopias overflowing with fruit and grains. Their dead, empty eyes stared down at the unwelcome guests. The dome was adorned with a ceiling mural depicting pastoral scenes of rolling hills, milkmaids, shepherd boys, and flocks of doves. His eyes watered as sweat seeped in along the sides. The ceiling blurred into a green and blue smear. Faces become horribly contorted masks with drooping eyes and lolling mouths.

“Phil!” said Parker, running toward him, “You okay?”

“I think so,” said Phil uneasily, “I’m getting vertigo. Pretty bad.”

“Uh oh.”

“It’s passed now,” said Phil, rubbing the space between his eyebrows, The ceiling went back to normal. “I don’t know what came over me. I just suddenly felt really awful.”

“I’m actually not surprised. The entire building was intended to be an optical illusion. Once upon a time, this building was an theater.” explained Parker, “It is intended to appear bigger on the inside so as to impress the clientele.”

“It’s working,” Phil mumbled. Parker grabbed his chin and shone a light into his eyes. Phil blinked as a swarm of black dots impeded his vision when the light drew away. He blinked and the roving spots vanished into a fog.

“I’ll need to check you out when we get back, just to be sure,” insisted Parker, “But you seem fine right now. I think you’re just another victim of the building. It’s a well documented phenomena.”

“Great.”

“You have great company,” assured Parker, tapping him on the shoulder, “The Queen of Sweden attended a concert here and had to leave in the first act because the building started to affect her.”

“Thank you,” smiled Phil, “You seen May?”

“I saw her run to the north wing but I haven’t seen her since.”

Phil bit his lip, “Keep an eye open. If you don’t see her soon, radio for backup.”

“She said the same thing about you,” smiled Parker as Phil turned and began to walk carefully down the south wing. He took time to pause several times along the hall to ensure he wasn’t going to get nauseous again.

The first three rooms were empty. The fourth room was locked. Phil tried the handle again. He couldn’t hear the lock clicking. He carefully turned the doorknob and it rotated freely both ways. Someone or something was holding the door closed.

Phil stepped back and walked a short distance down the hall. Carefully, he crept back against the wall in an attempt to prevent his feet from making too much noise. He wrapped his hand around the knob and flung the door open. As expected, it swung open freely. He stepped in, hand on his stun gun.

The dark room appeared to be a study, lined on three sides with bookshelves. Wide windows with ornate stained glass at the top were flanked by thick green velvet curtains. A shadow moved against the pale moonlight.

“Hirsch?” he whispered, testing his hunch.

It took a long moment before the shadow walked toward the light, “Coulson?”

“Hey, come out here, buddy,” said Phil carefully, “We’re here for you.”

He stepped out into the hall. His soft curly hair fell in front of his shimmering blue eyes. He was sweating profusely, but a smile crept across his face. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

“Same,” said Phil, “Same... What they heck are you doing here? We were scared stiff that something bad happened to you.”

“I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I saw you guys arrive and realized this created a stink. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Well, we’re here. Let’s get you out and we’ll figure things out. It’s hot as hell here,” Phil turned to walk back down the hall. Hirsch didn’t move. Phil turned back, confused, “What’s wrong?”

“Phil,” he ran a nervous hand through his hair, “I need your help. My family managed to sneak into the States. They’re here somewhere. I need to find them and get them out. Once representatives of the Latverian government get here… I-I’ll never see them again.”

“Okay. Back up. How do you know this?” asked Phil cautiously, “I mean, are you positive that they are here in the first place?”

“My brother, he sent me a letter,” he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over to Phil, “Don’t try reading, it’s coded. We had to code everything to thwart the censors. But suffice it to say that he found a way out and he would meet us here. That’s all I know. But it’s definitely his handwriting and it’s definitely our code.”

“Look,” said Phil, pocketing the note, “I’m sure Fury and Hand can figure something out. But right now you are a rogue agent. As long as you have that status, our hands are tied. We can’t help them if you don’t help us.”

Hirsch clenched his fists at his side, “Phil, they’re here. If I don’t get them… I won’t see my daughter ever again! Do you understand that?”

Phil felt his blood run cold and the sweat on his body chilled in a flash. Evelyn’s baby face flashed in front of his eyes. He swallowed and tried to keep his terror to himself. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave with anyone but you. You have to come with us and then we’ll work on helping others out.”

“You don’t understand! There isn’t time!” insisted Hirsch.

Phil held up a hand to stop him, “You know the policy.”

“Fuck policy,” spat Hirsch as he started to take off down the hall in a blind sprint.

Fortunately, Phil was a bit faster on his draw. The stun gun struck Hirsch right in the back. Blue lightning shot along his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. He collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. Phil sighed, and walked over to pull the twitching agent onto his shoulders.

“C’mon, buddy,” muttered Phil, “We’re getting you out of here or we’re all in trouble.”

He started to carry the limp agent out of the hallway, retracing his steps back to the center hall where he would meet up with the rest of the team. For some reason, his legs seemed wobbly. Initially he chalked it up to the additional dead weight he was carrying but then it grew worse, to the point where Phil had to stop himself from veering into a wall.

Nausea started to set in like a fog, growing in intensity until he was sure he was going to throw up. The golden hall faded in and out of focus. No matter how far he walked, it seemed like the green-wallpapered center never grew closer.

Dropping to one knee, Phil tried to get his bearings again and shake off the sudden sickness. It barely helped. The dizziness abated but the nausea was so severe, he felt like he was about to vomit. Tiredness settled in like a weight on his chest and eventually everything fell into blackness.

It seemed like only a few moments later when he awoke to someone slapping his cheek gently with one hand and another hand holding his eye open while a piercing bright light shone into it.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a voice.

Phil sat bolt upright, looking around to see who exactly was slapping him and where he was, “What?”

His vision re-focused even though he was seeing a dance of multicolored dots through his left eye from having the light shone in it. But the green wallpaper of the main hallway of the Latverian Embassy came into view and Phil was able to more or less place himself. He was sitting on the cold tile of the main hall with agents Parker and May kneeling next to him. The former tucked the medical flashlight into his vest.

“Take it easy,” ordered May, “What happened?”

Phil wondered the exact same thing. It took him a moment to retrace his steps to his last coherent memory, “I was walking down the west hall with Hirsch. I was carrying him. I had to stun him because he wasn’t going to go back willingly. Then I started feeling sick and…”

The thought hit him like a punch to the face and he frantically started looking around, “Where’s Hirsch?”

Parker shrugged a shoulder, “We don’t know still. May was concerned when you didn't meet at the rendezvous. We saw you passed out right at the entrance to the west hall. Hirsch was nowhere in sight.”

“Shit,” swore Phil, “Shit… where’d he get off to?”

“We’re heading back to regroup and establish radio contact,” explained Parker, “We can figure it out from here.”

“I found his tracking beacon,” grumbled May, pulling it out of her pocket, “It was on a windowsill back there. So, he could be anywhere in the building by now.”

“Or out of the building,” noted Parker.

“No,” corrected Phil as he sat up, “He said his family was nearby. He urgently needed to get them out. I’m not sure the details. But I bet wherever they are, he is, and they’re somewhere around here.”

“We have no way to confirm that or track that,” said Parker nervously, “We can re-establish contact with HQ  and figure out what the next step is. Let’s not run blind anymore and make a hasty decision.”

“You’re right,” echoed Phil as he started to stand, “Let’s look at this reasonably.”

“Are you good to walk?” asked May, grabbing his elbow to help him stand.

“I feel fine,” said Phil, “Whatever that was, I think I’ve shaken it.”

“We’ll need to test you for pathogens or chemicals when we get back,” noted Parker, “Since we don’t know what hit you.”

“Aw…”

“It’s fine, I was going to test you anyway,” he informed him, “We had a spike in airborne particles so all of us are going to get quarantined.”

Phil frowned. He would have to take five decontamination showers before seeing Evelyn. Bobbi would not be happy to stay overnight. Evelyn's face lingered in the back of his mind. He had an overwhelming need to hold his baby girl.

“We’re leaving,” insisted May, shouldering her pack.

“It just doesn't make sense,” said Phil, standing, “I just dropped Hirsch. He cannot have gotten far. He’s out for the count. I don't understand."

Parker looked around the agents. May shrugged and slid her pack onto the floor. “If it was only a few minutes ago, we might be able to pick up a heat signature and track where he was taken. That’s if we can, given the fact it’s a sauna in here.”

“Do it,” ordered Phil.

Parker sighed and pulled out the infrared camera. The room glowed faintly yellow on the screen. He sighed as he walked down the hall, “Sorry. I’m not picking anything up. The room is just to h-”

He paused, staring intently at the screen. Phil turned his head to get a better look. A red splotch smeared across the floor dominated the screen. Parker inched closer and a handprint began to take shape.

"There's something here," Parker whispered, placing his hand next to the bloody - colored print. The tile shifted under his fingertips. Parker stood, jumping out of the way.

Phil slid his fingers along the edge of the tile. A small purchase ran along the edge, invisible to the average passerby. He pulled out his old pocketknife, wiggling the blade under the stone so it lifted free. A deep hole, leading into the bowels of the wet earth, opened to them. The warm, moist aroma of earthworms and mud rose into the arid hall.

"Masks," ordered Parker, "everyone needs to put on masks. We don't know what kind of asbestos shit is down there."

Phil donned his mask. His hot breath caressed his face. A prickly sensation crept along his chin. He became aware that he needed to shave. The sharp, stabbing hairs made him itch.

Phil lowered himself down the trapdoor into the thick, hot pocket of air. When he let go of the floor, the moist dirt ground reached up to him and eagerly drew him in. A raw, pungent odor filtered up from the ground. Rot and decay surrounded him, tentacle tendrils coiling up his legs. The warm aroma of compost seized his chest in dirty, yellowed claws. Bile bubbled in his stomach and he held back the urge to retch.

His eyes took a long moment to adjust to the murky darkness. Vague outlines of oily brass machines oozed in and out of the darkness. The rhythmic clanking of the old machines dogged his footprints as Phil groped along the moist walls for any sort of lighting panel. His fingers glanced over the greasy pitted bricks, the black residue clung to him like a curse. When he finally yanked on a protruding lever, red safety lights cast a dim glow through an impenetrable maze of pipes.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he picked his way forward in the hazy crimson aura. The stagnant odor lingered around his head, becoming more potent as he hurried deeper into the mire. Rhythmic banging emanated from massive vintage boilers. Steam screeched from pressure valves, a shrill, toe-curling wail.

“Jeez,” Phil jumped back, narrowly avoiding banging his head on a low pipe. His heart pummeled his chest. Dark closed in around the corners of his eyes for a flickering moment.

"Do you smell something?" Asked May as she slid down into the darkness next to him.

"Compost," said Phil, "What are you getting?"

"Something very... bitter."

Phil looked around, "I still can't see a damn thing down here. Parker? Do you still have your light?"

The man slid down next to them, dragging a large backpack and the infrared camera down with him. The tiny beam of light barely penetrated the darkness but a narrow path between the pipes arose.

"Let's hurry up," demanded May. "This place gives me the creeps."

The trio wove between the pipe systems. A clanking noise followed them, like the triple hoof beats of a cantering horse. Phil followed the silvery beam of the flashlight dancing through a smoky haze. The faint scent of burning wood lingered in the mask. He caught a glimpse over at May. Dark eyes brimmed with tears.

"Are you okay?"

"No. That smell is overwhelming."

"What smell?" Asked Parker.

"What do you mean? That really bad smell, like rotting nuts. I can't really describe it. It's just foul."

"I'm not getting it."

Phil shook his head, "Me either."

May looked like she was going to say something but her words were cut off by a series of piercing screams rattling through the pipes. Tiny hairs on the back of Phil's neck stood on end. His heart skipped a beat. He became acutely aware of his own heavy breathing inside his mask. The screaming didn't stop.

“That’s not the steam,” whispered Phil.

They raced in the direction of the screams. A heavy metal door, thick like a safe, stood between them and whoever (or whatever) was wailing. May checked the crank on the door but it held fast, rusted shut with long red gashes of wear.

"Help!" Screamed a woman, "Help!"

She was interrupted by a bout of heavy coughing which descended into a gagging, retching, choking gurgle. May frantically ran her hands along the walls, searching for a way to disengage the lock. Phil looked around for something, anything, to break the door down as it was too thick for his pocket knife. His hands found a loose piece of pipe somewhere on the floor among other sticky debris. The end was too big to fit in the narrow crack of the door but he tried anyway, jamming it in with a loud clank.

A noise somehow snuck through the chaos, so quiet he almost missed it. A faint, petite voice wormed its way into his brain.

"Papa."

Phil froze. A sinking, hollow feeling crept into him, like death itself reached in and grabbed his heart in skeletal hands. His limbs moved against his will, trying to pry the door open. His face suddenly went cold,  wave of icy wind nipping at his cheeks. He closed his eyes, praying he didn't hear what he thought he heard.

After what felt like an eternity, the door disengaged. Freezing cold green - blue smoke poured out, flooding the room around their ankles. Parker and May jumped out of the way, avoiding the oncoming tide.

"All agents evacuate!" May's voice sounded far away. "We have chemical weapons on the basement level. Repeat. Unknown chemical weapons. Requesting evac."

The world faded into a black haze as Phil felt his legs move forward. He didn't want to know, but he had to see for himself. He charged into the haze dispute the caustic burning around his eyes.

The flashlight illuminated the grisly scene in a steely glow. Deep claw marks penetrated the dirt floor. A dark haired woman sprawled face down at the door, broken  fingernails dirtied with muck and rust, evidence that she clawed for her life. Tendrils of poison wove through her hair like a macabre ribbon.

Three more figures slumped deeper in the room. Hirsch's crystal blue eyes stared at nothing. A trickle of blood leaked from blistered purple lips, vomit soaked into the front of his shirt. A similar looking man lay on the floor. A pool of bile filled his mouth. His eyes were rimmed with red and flooded with dark blood vessels. Blood trickled from his eyelids and protruding ears.

But Phil's heart shattered at the doll - like figure Hirsch held in his arms tightly. Her long hair fell in lovingly crafted curls around her face. Blue eyes stared off into heaven, her listless expression mirroring her father's. Her gray cheeks were rouged with her father's blood and her purple lips were desecrated by foul, foaming yellow fluid. Her fingers stiffened in death, still clutching the front of her father's shirt. She clung to the father trying to protect her.

"Phil... we gotta get out of here. Now," said a muffled voice from somewhere far away. Phil didn't respond. He couldn't open his mouth. If he tried to speak, he would scream.

"We have to take them," he said at long last, unsure if he spoke the words aloud or merely thought them. It felt surreal. Nothing else in front of him made any sense. A voice chanted somewhere:

Don't look.

It's not there.

Don't look.

It's not real.

Don't look.

"We have to get them out of here so they can go home," he insisted even though the nonsense words rang dissonant in his ears.

"Phil there isn't time. We are all going to be in trouble if the gas goes again."

"We have to take them home."

It’s not real.

The girl's dead eyes drilled into his soul, piercing into him like thousands of needles. Horrible empty eyes with matte pupils and bloody lids. The eyes burned into his brain. Even when he closed his eyes they were there: ever watching. He was only vaguely aware of the movements of the disjointed movements of his limbs.

Don’t look.

Phil didn't know how long he zoned out but next thing he remembered was sitting, buckled into his seat in a helicopter. A plastic blanket bound his limbs close to his body so all he could do was stare listlessly at the heavy metal door and listen to a conversation between Maria and Fury.

“We can’t touch them,” said Fury, rage contorting his face, “Diplomatic immunity and we don’t have undeniable proof he did anything. Hell, we don’t even know if he was on the premises.”

“That’s bullshit,” snapped Maria, “There are four dead bodies on the embassy grounds.”

“We have nothing forensic to tie Doom directly to it. Even though everyone here knows who did this, nobody is going to speak up. And, the cherry on top, we have no probable cause for a warrant,” he looked around, “We barely have grounds to justify our presence there."

Exhaustion overwhelmed Phil's senses and he blacked out into the soft, velvety arms of unconsciousness. He could stay in the cool embrace and feel nothing. The pure emptiness soothed his soul like water to a burn.

Suddenly a loud noise pulled him abruptly into reality. Pain filled his joints and he became aware of the heaviness of his limbs. It felt like a swarm of bees circled his head, stinging and buzzing. He soon realized it was only the sound of the helicopter blades as they touched down on the landing pad in DC.

"Okay, Buddy," said Parker's voice over the rustle of plastic, "let's get you out of here."

Phil allowed his body to be guided through the process of decontamination. Swabs were taken of his clothing before it was incinerated. He slumped in the middle of the showers as he was blasted with water and solvent by men in yellow rubber suits. He barely felt the high powered water blasts rip into his body and pull at his flesh like fishhooks. Red swatches marred his skin from the force of the water but numbness already set in. He was an empty glass in the dishwasher, at the mercy of the water.

He found himself stuffed into sweatpants and a baggy tee shirt and dumped into the conference room to debrief. People spoke around him but it all sounded like a jumble of nonsense words and white noise.

"We have no official statement from Latveria yet," said Maria, picking her familiar voice out of the mess, "but the head of cleaning informed Shah there was a scheduled fumigation for this evening. It is our opinion that they are using this for a cover."

Fury glared down the table, his eye drilling a hole into the polished surface. His voice was low and dangerous, filled with barely-contained rage. "So a band of political dissidents who happen to be there at this time just happened to get caught during fumigation. This just... happens?"

Silence around the room. Nobody spoke. Nobody had an answer. Phil stared into a Styrofoam cup of coffee someone placed in front of him. Undissolved powdered creamer clung to the sides. The strong aroma of burned coffee made his stomach twist. He subtly pushed the cup away.

The door to the conference room opened and Victoria Hand walked in. She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and pressed her maroon lips together. A package of assorted notebooks and files filled her arms.

"We have a statement from Latveria. Delivered by courier."

Fury bade her continue, his voice oozed sarcasm, "I would love to hear what Latveria has to say on the matter."

“Doom says he won’t press for legal action,” explained Hand carefully, pulling a sheet of legal paper from a manila envelope.

Fury turned quickly, eye glinting in the low light. He spoke calmly but the anger simmered. “Oh, well, isn’t that just fucking magnanimous of him! I have a dead agent and three dead civilians on US soil and the one thing we have as compensation is that we won’t get sued. Woop-de-fucking-do!”

Everyone was quiet under the flickering conference light. There was simply nothing to say. Each looked at the other and back again. Phil crossed his arms and tried to hold back the flood of emotion resting just behind his facade. His lip trembled.

He didn't call himself sentimental. The last time he wanted to cry this badly was when he was twelve. It was a hot balmy day in St Louis. His mother was handed the folded flag while he held onto his sister while the casket descended into the earth. Janey cried into his Sunday shirt. She looked up at him.

Blue eyes.

“We’re going to get him,” said Fury, pulling Phil from his living nightmare. “I don’t know how. I don’t even really care how. But we’re going to get him and get him good. I want undercover ops in Latveria starting yesterday. If he so much as farts, we know what it smells like.”

Phil didn't speak. Every new detail made his heart break more until he couldn't take it. He abruptly left the conference room so he could stand at the window as soon as the briefing ended. The river was a dark smear through the city lights as they blossomed under the overcast sky. The spire of the Washington monument glowed the familiar golden hue. Dawn slept in that day, leaving swirling clouds and the threat of a rainstorm.

He let the tears fall at long last, the tears he wanted to shed for the poor little girl, dead in her father's arms for reasons she probably didn't understand. He sobbed quietly putting his arm up against the glass. He caught a glimpse of his face in the window: an unshaven mess with reddening eyes and a prickly red rash on his face from the mask. He didn't know how long he stood there, lamenting the heinous acts. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder.

"If you need someone to talk to...." Nick assured.

"I... I just need to let this one out, Director. But thanks." He cleared his throat, embarrassed at the fragility of his voice.

"I meant professionally. There was some bad shit that went down. Nobody needs to see that." There was still a rumble of thunder in his voice.

"I'll keep it in mind."

Nick stood next to him as the city slept at their feet. Phil wiped his nose in the sleeve of the oversized shirt. He started to feel himself again. The pain kept his thoughts messy and his chest tight but he no longer felt on the outside looking in, a stranger in his own body.

“Nick, Evey and I need to disappear,” said Phil quietly, looking down at his hands.

“I’ll make an appointment for you.”

"I don’t…” His mind flashed back, he squeezed his eyes shut, “I looked at that little girl and she...she looked like..." he began to hyperventilate.

"Hey," interrupted Nick grabbing him by the shoulders to steady him, "Evelyn is fine. She is safe at home in her bed. Morse is not going to let anything happen to her. You will get home and she will be waiting for you with a big smile on her face."

Phil took a deep breath and felt the billion nervous thoughts in his head settle. He nodded, unable to speak without making a mess.

"Grab a bunk. Get some sleep," ordered Nick, "You'll feel better."

Phil took a deep breath, "I'm going to go home. I need to..."

"Are you good to drive?"

"I'll be okay," Phil said. He didn't believe it.

The ride home felt excruciatingly long. The normal twenty minutes commute felt like a small eternity. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently at every red light, chewing on his lower lip in frustration. As he drove home, he blew through empty intersections.

He bolted up the stairs of his apartment building, taking the steps two at a time. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the keys in the lock. The door swung open.

Bobbi looked like she had been sleeping. Her hair pulled up in a sloppy ponytail, eyes slightly unfocused, and a wobble to the firearm she held in front of her. She blinked and lowered her weapon.

“Oh, Phil… I’m glad it’s you.”

“Do you usually greet houseguests with a firearm?” asked Phil, sliding off his backpack.

“Sorry,” she set the firearm back in the holster and put it back in her bag, “It’s four in the morning and I heard loud noises. I got a bit jumpy.”

“How are things?”

“Fine. Evelyn’s a real cutie. She wanted me to read Captain America stories all night. She almost has those books memorized,” she chuckled, “I’m actually impressed. She can practically read on her own.”

Phil kicked his backpack off to the side and sat down at the bar, running a hand through his hair. His legs ached, the dull pain extending all the way up his waist. Bobbi’s smile faded at the sight of the sober look in Phil's eyes.

"You okay?"

He started to say ‘fine’ but stopped. It was not fine. It was not the slightest bit fine. It would never be fine. There was no sense lying about it. Phil sighed, "It was a bad one."

"Do you need to talk?"

He looked away, "Not now. I've done all the talking I can handle tonight. I need to see Evelyn."

Bobbi nodded, "She's in her room."

Phil nodded and shuffled down the dark hall. He could feel Bobbi’s eyes in the back of his head, watching. He pushed the door open. The first beams of light started to peek between the curtains, casting the room in a shimmery glow.

She slept on her small bed, blue knit blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Her hair had grown more red in the past year, carrot-colored locks spread across her pillow. Phil sat on the foot of her bed, watching her lazily rub her eye. She made a tiny noise.

“Papa?

"Evey? I’m sorry, did I wake you?"

She didn’t respond as she continued to rub her eye. Phil thought she might have been talking in her sleep. Suddenly sleepy brown eyes looked up at him. A smile radiated in the early morning sun.

"Hi Papa."

She radiated with mirth and life. Her lively eyes danced when they met his. Her little hands reached up to him, eager for a hug. He pulled her small body into his arms, holding her for a long time. She smelled like strawberries and baby powder. Her little heartbeat fluttered in his hands. When he finally let her go, her smile had faded.

"Why are you crying?" She asked.

Phil looked away, embarrassed that she had to see him compromised like this. It took him a moment to regain his composure before he looked back to her.

"I just missed you, Evey. I missed you a lot."

She looked solemnly up at him, "Can we play today?"

Her wide hazel eyes looked eagerly up at him. Her eyes pleading, reaching out to him. His eyes flooded with tears and he hugged her again.

“Papa?” she asked softly.

“Yes, Evey, I'll play," sniffled Phil, his voice cracking. The emotions of the day hit him like a tide. He tightened his hug and began to cry, the emotions churning from shock to gutted fear as he hid his guttural sobs in her hair.

She was here. She was alive. And he was going to keep it that way.

 


	7. Tabula Rasa

The building was known among SHIELD agents as “The Alibi.” The simple, nondescript stone building blended in with many of the other buildings along Fulton Street. It was known formally as the Missouri Building and home of Fascination Data. It was a company that collected advertisement data from TV and radio and kept records of demographic changes.

It was also a lie.

Fascination Data was a phony company used by SHIELD agents to explain their whereabouts. Business trips out of town were paid for by the company and actually just a guise to keep their agents who still kept a foot on the grid as covert as possible.

Phil walked up to the building. He had never thought he would have to go here. He never thought he would need his life rearranged. All because of a little girl in New Mexico. He paused, his mind reeling and focusing on the family that was massacred at the embassy. He clamped down on that memory and reminded himself that it was going to be worth it in the long run and hoped he would continue to believe it.

The inside of the building was made up of dark oak wood floors that creaked like skeleton joints. The wood paneling that lined all four walls was broken up only by a few stuffy oil paintings of scenes from American history: the crossing of the Delaware River, Teddy Roosevelt and the rough riders, the landing at Iwo Jima. The one interesting feature of the room was the fresco on the ceiling. It depicted a full map of the fifty states and all the presidents, including the new President Reagan. Cherubs holding American flags decorated the corners. Scrolls surrounded the room, spelling out the words of the Declaration of Independence and Preamble to the Constitution. Although the outside of the building was innocuous enough, the inside seemed to have forgotten that the government agency was supposed to be secret.

Phil double-checked the slip of paper that had been passed to him by an undercover drop. His appointment was located in the basement, an unusual place to do business. At the same time, it seemed unusually fitting considering the shadowy world he was about to step into. The clanking elevator sank down into the bowels of the earth. It felt like a wrought iron cage holding him in as the blackness closed in.

When it finally came to a stop, he looked around at the world he had stumbled into. Aisles and aisles of bookshelves stretched on as far as he could see, stretching from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was full of boxes, labelled in bold pen strokes and color-coordinated by large colorful stickers. It was such an intricate system that Phil had to wonder what it all meant.

“Hello?”

Phil almost jumped out of his skin at the gurgling voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. He whipped around, looking to find out where the voice came from. It only took him a moment to locate the solid wooden desk directly off to his side and the strange-looking woman behind it.

Her name was Elsa Brandford, but SHIELD knew her as “The Cleaner.” She rested like a reclusive spider in the murky parts of SHIELD, the world acting as her web. Pulling a gossamer thread here or there changed the course of history. If you needed to disappear, die, or otherwise strike yourself from the record, she could erase any mention of you from every record in the world. She spun new identities, new people, new stories, for agents. Phil had never met her before but The Cleaner’s power was well known around SHIELD, almost an urban legend. The organization probably couldn’t exist without her.

Phil was a bit surprised to see the lanky lady behind the desk. Frail, thin strands of hair hung limply around her face, reminiscent of cornsilk in texture and color. Her wrinkled, raisin-like face seemed to be collapsing in on itself in a perpetual lemon-sucking pout with nonexistent lips cast in shadow under a prominent beaked nose. Thin chrome reading glasses pinched the bridge of her nose. She very much reminded him of an old barn owl.

“Phil Coulson?” she rasped like a death rattle, “You’re late. Your appointment was at 9:45.”

“Traffic,” explained Phil breathlessly. The old lady made him incredibly uneasy, as though he was meeting the grim reaper, “I hope it isn’t a problem.”

She sucked her lips in farther in irritation. It made Phil half-afraid that she would end up eating her own chin. She picked up a folder from her table.

“Director Fury said you wanted this to be processed as soon as possible. The official story is that Phil and Evelyn Coulson died in a small Dash-8 plane crash between Seattle and Vancouver, BC. He was heading up to meet a college friend. Official cause of death is smoke inhalation compounded with extensive third-degree burns. The child died on impact. You don’t want to see the pictures, They’re quite gruesome. There was a small, private funeral with just family and close friends at the home cemetery in Clay Center, Nebraska. They were in a closed coffin, due to the extent of the burn damage in the crash. After the funeral, both were cremated with their ashes spread across the backyard of the family home. No wife or next of kin, so his will dictated his possessions and modest estate be donated to the local Presbyterian church to help fund the 4-H clubs that meet there.”

A strange, sinking sensation in his stomach made Phil feel a little sick. It was strange to hear his obituary read out loud this way. Even more disturbing to hear his daughter's death spelled out so plainly. It was like being a ghost. Her rasping voice didn’t help matters any.

“Your prints are erased from the system, as is every mention of Phil Coulson growing up,” she continued, handing him a folder, “As soon as the death certificates come through, Phil and Evelyn Coulson will be completely gone from the grid. Your new identities are Phil and Evelyn Carlton. He grew up in Burnsville, Minnesota. Adopted a girl from the land of enchantment. Closed adoption sorts out the loose ends. He likes long walks on the beach, pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, and doesn’t really like yoga.”

“I hope you’re kidding.”

“I am,” she said joylessly, handing him a folder, “Just making sure you are paying attention. You will find the birth certificates, social security cards, driver’s license, newspaper clippings, and anything else you may need to establish the Carlton’s life in there.”

Phil stood there for a long time, staring down at the stack of papers in his hand. He felt wobbly, a little bit sick. He took a deep breath and put the file into his briefcase. He let out a heavy sigh, looking back up at The Cleaner. She stared with lidless eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think,” admitted Phil, “It’s all just a bit... strange.”

She nodded, “That’s usually how people feel. Come back if you need anything. I’ll be here.”

“Really?” asked Phil. He didn’t intend to be rude but the woman was one step away from being a skeleton, “Begging your pardon.”

“I stayed alive for seventy-two years on a strict diet of menthol cigarettes and gin,” she said, “I plan on lasting another seventy years and I shan’t change a thing.”

“I meant, do you often get repeat customers?”

She nodded, “It is difficult to stay on the grid and stay under the radar. I would almost be so bold as to say it is impossible. Good on you for trying, but I will be seeing you again.”

“No offense, ma’am, but you won’t,” smiled Phil. With that, he tucked the file under his arm and left without another word, walking back out onto the New York City street and into the light.

He hailed a cab to take him all the way up to the Upper West Side. SHIELD placed the family in a suite in a small hotel in the shadow of the Stark building. Phil hurried to reunite with his daughter and get things settled. Central park erupted in red and gold leaves. Autumn lay out an opulent carpet for him to tread through. Crisp air snuck between buildings to bite at his exposed ears and nose. Phil found his heart a bit lighter now as filtered sunlight reached between the low hanging clouds. It was nearly Thanksgiving and he could take Evelyn to the Macy's parade. She would like it. At Christmas, they could go to the skating rink. When she was older, he would take her to Times Square on New Years. He found himself smiling. He could get used to living in new York.

He opened the door to the suite and peered in. Nobody was around. Everything looked like it had been cleaned. Fresh white towels rested on the counter, folded so the monogram faced upwards. He wondered if Maria might have taken Evelyn for a walk until he heard the stampede of little feet. Evelyn skipped a lot of the awkward toddling phase and went straight to running. Now it was difficult to get her to stop.

"Papa!" She yelled, racing toward him with arms outstretched.

“Hello, baby girl,” smiled Phil as he scooped up Evelyn and spun her around so she giggled and squealed with delight.

“Papa!” she squeaked, hugging him tightly with her little pudgy toddler arms. Phil returned her embrace as he set her back on the floor. He didn’t want to let her go.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, Papa!”

He held her tightly, burying his face in her soft hair, trying to hide the bittersweet feeling lodged between his ribs. He missed her so badly even though he was only gone for a few hours. His mind kept flickering back to the embassy. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake a sense of dread which lingered in his heart.

“Are you still sad?” asked Evelyn, noticing his sniffling again.

“No,” Phil tried to keep his voice from cracking, “No, Evey, I’m just happy to see you. I missed you while I was gone.”

She looked up at him with eyes as wide as the world, swirling with hazel-brown and green flecks. Sometimes the light made her eyes sparkle with gold. Sometimes the shadow made her eyes look like an entire forest. She reached up and touched his face with her fat, childish fingers.

“You miss me a lot."

It never ceased to astound him how much poise and strength she had even as a young child. Her mere presence made him feel better. He took her hand in his.

“Don’t ever change, Evey.”

“Seems like she knows more than what meets the eye... Mr. Carlton.”

Phil turned his head towards the door at the familiar voice. “Director?”

Nick stood behind him in the doorway, leaning against the frame, “I just stopped by to see how you were settling. Good to see you and your cactus baby are safe.”

“Thank you sir.” He decided to ignore the unfortunate nickname Nick had given Evelyn.

Nick walked over to him and sat on the couch, Maria came into view and handed him a folder. It was full of information on where they were moving to. The apartment was small but located close to the New York offices and a prestigious preschool for Evelyn. A map was enclosed that showed how far they were from work and home.

“Your stuff is en route to your new apartment which should be ready for you both by tomorrow,” said Nick as he put his feet up, "Our finance people also have to set up your new bank accounts and get your tax ‘history’ figured out. It would be a good idea to lie low for a few days."

“Thanks,” he said, feeling shaky as he sunk into the couch, “I didn’t expect you to come all the way up here just to help me out.”

Nick almost smiled. “SHIELD is more than an organization, it’s family. We take care of our own. You and your daughter will always be protected by us.”

Coulson relaxed into the couch taking everything in. Maria spoke up.

“Our main operative team is also relocating to this area as we have noticed that it seems to have a higher rate of international crime and mutant activity. It seems like your role of recruiter and instructor has expanded.”

Phil smiled, feeling reassured, “You didn’t have to do that on my account.”

Maria sat down next to the Director. Nick took a deep breath before speaking. “To be completely honest, this change has been a work in progress. The Council has made a controversial decision. They are interested in expanding recruitment to mutants. We need to bring that talent into SHIELD. It’s potential which should not go to waste. Your transition just happens to fall at the right place at the right time."

"That makes a lot of sense," said Phil, setting Evelyn on the ground because his left arm started to fall asleep. She sucked her thumb as she pulled her lop-eared bunny toy over to hold. She hummed a little song to herself, clearly uninterested in the adult conversation.

Phil noticed the growing habit and began to think of ways to break it as she can’t start preschool sucking on her thumb. He focused his attention back on Nick, "I really don't understand how this is any sort of controversy."

"Congress controls our purse strings," noted Maria, "So we are at a mercy to their whims if we are going to continue operation. Right now, it’s not particularly favorable to mutants."

"But if they take us out financially, then who is going to keep trouble from landing on their doorstep!"

Nick threw his hands up, "Exactly! But it's all about ideology for these motherf-"

"Nick," warned Maria, jerking her thumb over to where Evelyn was sitting.

"For these people," he corrected looking at the girl and then back to Phil, "Rather than actually working toward a solution, they prefer to strangle anyone who gets in their way. I hope their 'moral high ground' offers them a good view of the chaos. Because other than that, it's not good for much."

Phil bit his lip. He hated politics. "So the point is the Council is taking a gamble. And it better pay off."

"It will pay off," corrected Nick, "It got my best man on it."

Phil chuckled, "When do I start?"

Nick and Maria exchanged a glance. A downright impish expression crossed her face before it settled back to normal. Nick smirked, “We decided that it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission. So, you are going to start on Monday while we continue to lobby support. We’ve started making contact with a group called the Friends of Mutants Association. They’re based out of Portland. They try to connect mutant youth to positive career paths, among other things. Anita Dan is your contact and she will help you get started. There is a big event coming up in a few months. I’ll try to snag an invite so you can have a face-to-face meeting.”

Nick handed him a business card. Forest green lettering on ivory cardstock spelled out her name and position in the organization. Phil tucked it into his pocket for later. Evelyn skipped up to his chair and rested her head against the armrest.

“Papa…”

“What’s up?” he ruffled her hair so it stuck straight up.

“I’m bored. You’re doing a lot of grown-up talk,” she complained, bouncing on her heels.

Maria held a hand over her mouth to hold in a laugh but the sparkle in her dark eyes betrayed her amusement. “There’s a playground about a block down.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened, “Can we go to the playground?”

Phil considered it, glancing over at Nick to see if there was anything he needed to do before. Nick shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. Let’s go get your coat.”

“Yay!” she laughed, skipping back off to the bedroom to grab her things.

Nick and Maria stood. Phil noticed the director buttoning up his long, dark jacket. “You’re not staying?”

“Thought about it,” said Maria, “But then the stock market had to go and crash yesterday. So now we have to keep an eye on things while the finance people sort through the mess. Maybe nothing will happen. But we have to keep an eye open just in case.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way up here to help me in the middle of a global market crisis,” muttered Phil sheepishly, “I mean, my problems aren’t nearly as bad as… the stock market crashing.”

“Like I said before,” said Nick, “We support each other, no matter what. We can’t claim to be there when all else fails and the last line of defense of humanity if we don’t fulfill that role among ourselves. It starts at home.”

Phil mulled over those words as he took Evelyn to the park. It was a small metal structure wedged between buildings with a few trees providing cover. The storm clouds brewed overhead, threatening to unleash a storm. Ignoring the gray skies, she charged through puddles in her little yellow rain boots, racing through the autumn leaves, and leaping onto the metal structure. Phil sat back under a tree as it dropped bright red leaves around him. Evelyn raced up the steps, ignoring the pooling rain. She slid down the blue plastic slide and landed squarely in a puddle. She giggled and raced back around again. The slides and the monkey bars kept her entertained for nearly an hour. Finally, she turned back to Phil.

“Papa!”

“What is it Evey?”

She climbed onto the ledge, kicking her feet so she could slide onto the platform easily. Her upper body strength was pretty impressive.

“Will you play?”

Phil chuckled, “I’m a bit too big, Evelyn. But I can push you on the swings.”

Her face paled a bit as she stood and brushed the dirt off her knees, “I don’t like the swings.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, resting his hands against the platform.

“I don’t like falling.”

Phil paused, pondering this as she had just finished on the monkey bars and had been fine. Evelyn went off to the slide so she can slip down once again. The rain started to pick up again. Large drops plummeted from the sky, dripping over the city. Phil glanced up, trying to gauge the ferocity of the storm.

“Evey, I think we need to start heading home. It’s almost lunch.”

“Do I have to?” she whined, sitting on the edge of the slide, “I’m not done playing.”

“You can go down the slide one more time. Then we need to get back to the hotel and get you dried off.”

She raced around to the ladder but didn’t hurry her ascent. She was taking her sweet time, making it last. Amused, Phil knelt at the end of the slide to wait for Evelyn so he could scoop her up before she ran away. She settled at the top of the slide, clinging to the sides.

“Are you ready to catch me?”

“I’m right here,” he said, opening his arms for her.

Evelyn pushed with her legs and raced down the slide. Everything ran into a bit of a blur for Phil. She was sliding down to him one moment and the next moment, he felt a jolt shoot up his arm. A blot of blue static shot between Evelyn’s outstretched hand and his. Evelyn collided with him, knocking him off balance. He fell back onto his back, staring up at the descending raindrops.

“Papa!” She shrieked.

“I’m fine,” he chuckled, “No problem. I’m not hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, tears appearing in her eyes. She started to bawl. Phil quickly sat up, even though his backside smarted. Evelyn fell into his arms, still weeping.

“Evelyn, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident,” he reassured her, stroking her hair so that she started to calm down. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home and clean you up.”

He stood, taking her hand in his. She still had tears coming down her cheeks but the frequency decreased. She held him tightly, enough so that his hand ached from her grip. But he held on.

They didn’t talk about it for the rest of the day. Phil didn’t want to put her in distress, especially when she was settling down. The afternoon went by fast as he attempted to dry her off when they arrived back at the hotel but she was too excited about the idea of swimming. After lunch and a quick nap, Phil attempted to teach her how to swim in the indoor pool, but she was more interested in blowing bubbles and splashing him gleefully. She seemed to settle into bed at the end of the day. Phil didn’t even get to finish their story book due to her unusual exhaustion.

If only he could sleep as soundly as she did. His brain spun with thoughts on the day and emotions the instant he tried to relax. Thoughts, questions, fears, and nightmares crawled out of the corners, reaching out their slimy tentacles. He turned the TV on, not because he cared about the late night programming but because the mindless noise helped keep his mind busy. Otherwise, he could still feel the tight gas mask against his face. The overwhelming aroma of rot and grime seeped from his pores. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he could not get the dirt off of his body. The smell followed him just over his shoulder, claws digging into his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes, the empty sapphire eyes glared at him. The image of suffocation bruising and blood remained burned into the back of his mind.

He felt sick. Bile tickled the back of his throat. The toilet bowl loomed before him but he couldn’t recall exactly how it got there. As sick as he felt, he couldn’t bring himself to throw up. His legs felt tense, muscles twitching. Muscles in his torso tightened, yanking back on his lungs so he couldn’t breathe. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Sweat pooled in the hollows of his back. He brought his knees to his forehead, curling into a ball on the bathroom floor until he could regain his breathing. Breaths in and out became longer and more focused. He managed to drag himself to the couch and lose himself in the static from the TV, hovering between frequencies. At long last, he would drift off to sleep, but only when the sense of exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Phil found himself crawling through dirt but it turned to a soupy mess of entrails under his hands. Blood coated his arms and his belly as he dragged himself along to some unknown destination. The air smelled poisoned, metallic, hot. Something clung to his ankle, yanking him back into the darkness. Everything shifted in a blur. A dead face stared up at him, blood seeping from young purpled lips. Blood and vomit stained red braids. Hazel-brown eyes stared off at nothing, the dead expression glaring at him. He fell back, into darkness. Screams echoed around him, piercing his ears.

Pain shot across his chest the instant before he awoke. He looked around the hotel room, his small firearm ready to go in his hand. Everything seemed in place as he put it back on his night stand, but his stomach turned in knots, heart beating like he just ran a marathon. He rested his head in his hands. The past few nights had been like this. It wasn’t slowing down. To reassure himself, he went and checked on Evelyn. She slept soundly in the other room, burrowed in her blankets, blissfully unaware of his distress. Making a mental note to speak with someone at SHIELD about sleeping pills, he attempted to go back to sleep. Results were mixed.

Around five in the morning, he gave up entirely on trying to sleep and began packing and organizing everything that would be needed for their relocation. Breakfast was dropped off by room service an hour and a half later. The rich aroma of pancakes and bacon filled the suite.

He was surprised that his toddler wasn’t up. He tip toed into her room while he munched on some strawberries and smiled. She was cuddled up to her blanket, her back was to him and her tiny fists clutching the silky fabric. Climbing onto the bed, he ruffled her hair and attempted to wake her up. She rolled over and buried her head between the pile of pillows and his leg, murmuring something sleepily.  It was clear she wanted to snuggle and not wake up. Kissing her head, he started planting raspberries on her forehead, the sensation causing her to scream with delight, giggle and squirm out of his reach. Laughing, he let go of his daughter. She smiled at him still giggling, her hair stuck up in several directions. Eventually she caught the scent of breakfast and hurried to begin the day.

After breakfast, Phil had Evelyn help him pack some of their bags. He had been avoiding discussing his trip to the Cleaners with his daughter. It was difficult to put the words together, explain it in a way she could understand.

“Honey," he began nervously, "We need to talk about something important."

She stopped putting her Captain America books into his old green backpack and looked up at him. Curiosity shimmered in her eyes.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Its about our move. There are some important things I need to tell you about," he took a deep breath before continuing, "You can’t tell anyone your name is Coulson. It's a secret.”

“Why?”

Phil pulled Evelyn close so she was sitting on his knee and he could look at her in the eyes. The little girl had such big, brown eyes that they appeared to swallow everything up. He hugged her around the shoulders and rocked her back and forth.

“You know that my job is that I help find bad guys and make sure that they don’t do bad things to people, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there are some bad guys that don’t want to stop doing bad things.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons, sweetie,” said Phil quietly, “It’s hard to explain right now. You will understand better when you are older.”

Evelyn frowned when she heard that. She didn’t like being told she was too young to understand something. In some ways, she didn’t know her own limits. It worried Phil just a little bit. He sighed and tried to continue.

“It’s not good that people hurt others but unfortunately, it is the way things are. That’s why we need people like Maria and Bobbi and Nick and the other agents. They prevent these bad people from hurting others. But because the bad guys don’t want to stop doing bad things, they think that hurting people like SHIELD agents will make it so that they can keep doing bad things. So, we have new names that we have to use so that the bad guys can’t find us. Does that make sense?”

“I guess it does,” nodded Evelyn, “So... I can’t tell anyone that my name is Coulson?”

“That is correct,” said Phil, “Your new name is Evelyn Carlton. That is the name you have to tell other people.”

“Okay,” she said very quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. Phil hugged her close. Evelyn would be hidden. Nobody would find her. That would let him sleep better at night.

“You know that Captain America had a secret name too?”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” said Phil, “If you promise never to tell anyone, I’ll tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “How do you know Captain America’s secret name?”

“Well, Howard Stark, the man who started SHIELD knew Captain America many years ago,” said Phil, “They were friends. Captain America is sort of the reason SHIELD is around today. So, his name was in some of our very secret files.”

“Wow...” her wide eyes were open, reverent at the idea of thousands of secrets hidden away. Phil smiled a bit. That was much of the same reason that made him want to join SHIELD. He wanted answers to questions.

“Captain America was a man named Steve Rogers. He fought during World War Two. But nobody knows that except for you, and me... and some people at SHIELD.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“You keep his name secret, dear, and you keep your name secret,” said Phil, “And everything will be okay. Alright?”

“Okay.”

A few moments passed in silence as they packed until, “Are we going to see the big lady?”

“The big lady?” asked Phil as he pulled her clothes from the box and stacked them neatly, “What big lady?”

Evelyn held her hand up in the air, “The big lady with the crown.”

“Oh, the Statue of Liberty,” said Phil, putting a hand on his forehead, “Yes, she is in New York.”

“Can we see her?”

“Sure,” smiled Phil as he zipped up their suitcase. “We can go see the statue of liberty sometime.”

"I'm excited," she grinned, skipping off to gather up some more things, “I get to see the big lady!”


	8. Tea & Cushions

“Happy Birthday, honey,” said Phil, handing over the box to her. It was fairly small but well-wrapped, covered in purple paper with pink and yellow flowers and topped with a blue and gold bow. Evelyn took the gift on her lap and started pulling off large scraps of paper until she was down to the plain white box. She popped open the lid easily and squeaked upon seeing the contents. She reverently reached in and pulled out a plush doll version of Evelyn’s favorite hero: Captain America.

The doll had glassy eyes made out of two dark blue resin buttons and a smile made of red thread. The costume was a perfect replica, right down to the feathery wings embroidered on either side of the helmeted head. He even had little boots made out of sleek, leathery material.

“Papa!” she smiled, her left bottom tooth missing, “My own Captain America!”

“I’m glad you like it, honey,” smiled Phil as he ruffled her fluffy auburn hair. She giggled, hugging the doll closely.

“Let me get a photo of you,” said Phil as he raised his Polaroid camera, “I’d like this for the album.”

She sat on the edge of the sofa, pushing the boxes and wrapping paper off to the side so it would be out of the photo. She cradled Cap closely, as though he was made from glass and not fluff and fabric. He was singled out as the favorite among her birthday presents.

“Smile!” said Phil. She grinned from ear to ear, revealing a mouth full of  half-grown in teeth. Her arms wrapped around Cap, pulling him close. The camera clicked and the flash went off. As Phil shook the Polaroid and scribbled “1988 4th birthday” to date the picture, Evelyn yawned widely.

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah,” admitted Evelyn, “But… I want cake.”

“It is chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting,” smiled Phil, taking her hand as they walked to the kitchen, “Your favorite.”

“Dad, this is a great birthday.”

“Oh,” smiled Phil, feeling his heart well up in joy and pride as he pulled the pink cake box from the fridge, “I’m glad you had a good birthday.”

“Next year, I’ll be five.”

“Yes, you will,” Phil lifted the cake out of the box and onto the table. A ring of lacy frosting adorned the sides, like stylized rose buds. In the middle, in purple frosting, it said “Happy 4th birthday, Evelyn!” Phil poked four candle around the edge, lighting them so the kitchen was bathed in flickering light.

“And then I’ll get to go to kindergarten.”

“Yup, that is true.”

“I’m excited.”

“I’m glad. Time to blow out your candles.” He grabbed the cake and held it out in front of her.

Evelyn inhaled deeply, exaggerating the motion. All the candles flickered and then went out. Phil started to cut the cake and plate it up.

“So, you’re excited for kindergarten but not preschool?” he teased. Classes would start in a couple of weeks.

“Um…”

Phil blinked once, concerned by her lack of response, “What is it sweetie?”

“What...what if they don’t like me?”

“Your classmates?”

“Yeah, can I stay with Maria or Bobbi instead?”

Phil sighed and scooted the cake over and lifted her up and sat her on the kitchen counter so that they were eye to eye.

“Why do you not think they will like you? The kids you play with at church like you.”

“But you have to be nice to people in church!”

Phil covered his mouth to hide the smile on his face. Composing himself, he looked back up at her. “You’ll be fine, Evey. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She picked up her fork and started to pick at her cake, “If you say so.”

“I know so,” he insisted, gathering the wrapping paper from her gifts, “Trust me.”

Evelyn gave him a look but didn’t say anything else. Phil sliced himself a piece of cake and sidled next to her. He dabbed peanut butter frosting on her nose, making her giggle. After finishing their slices of cake, they washed the dishes and got Evelyn ready for bed.

Phil pulled back the covers so Evelyn could crawl into her bed before he tucked her in for the night. She yawned as he pulled the covers up to her chin. He picked up the Captain America doll from the pillows and tucked him into the bed next to her.

“I love you, Papa,” she muttered sleepily.

“I love you too, birthday girl,” he replied, kissing her forehead, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He flicked off the main lights but he could see from the crack of light from the door that she pulled the doll closer so Cap rested right under her little chin. She yawned again and Phil slipped out the door. Her little eyes fluttered shut as she slipped into dreams.

Phil felt bad that he had to wake her early in the morning, but they needed to run errands. She needed a backpack for preschool and he completely forgot until he received the supply letter from the school. He put her in her booster seat in the car and fastened it tightly across her chest. They started to drive when Evelyn asked a question which stopped traffic.

“Papa, is Maria my mommy?”

Phil slammed on the brakes of his car, pulling it off to the side as fast as possible before he caused a massive car crash. He spun around in his seat so he could look at Evelyn. She seemed unaware of the fact that she nearly caused a wreck.

“Honey? Why do you ask?”

“Lots of other kids have mommies. I don’t think I have a mommy, unless Maria is my mommy.”

Phil stammered, “Do you ….want a mommy?”

Evelyn didn’t say anything for a long moment as she mulled it over, “I don’t know. What do mommies do?”

Phil stammered over a good response to that question. The obvious answer was not something that should be explained to a child. An alternative explanation to what mommies did was actually somewhat hard to come up with.

“Uh, mommies... they... uh, they bake cookies and sew lost buttons back onto your clothes and mend things, and... do girl things with you...”

“Girl things? What are girl things?” Evelyn asked, her little head quirking to the side in confusion.

“I don’t know. I’m not a girl,” admitted Phil looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“Where do you go to get a mommy?”

“Honey,” said Phil, turning farther in his seat to look at her properly, “You do have a mommy out there somewhere. She’s just not here.”

She looked down at her little hands while squeezing her Captain America doll tightly against her chest, “Why did she go away? Did do something wrong?”

“No,” insisted Phil, reaching back to grab her hand, “No. You haven’t done anything. I don’t know why your mommy isn’t here, but it isn’t that.”

“Can I go look for her?”

Phil bit the inside of his lip, “I’m not sure where to start looking.”

“Will you tell me if you find her? I want to meet her!”

“I will,” promised Phil, “Someday we will find her.”

After dropping Evelyn off at the daycare, Phil beelined it to work so he could find Maria. She sat in the conference room with a stack of paperwork in front of her. Greetings fell by the wayside. Phil dumped all of his anxieties onto her lap.

“How, in the name of all that is holy, do you tell a four-year-old that she’s adopted? How will even start to explain that… I’m not her dad? My parenting books say nothing about this,”

Maria didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you too. I’m guessing she asked questions about her biological parents on her birthday?”

“No this morning, specifically about her mother.”

He looked at his partner as she viewed the morning’s reports. Perhaps Maria wouldn’t mind being something of a stand-in mother. Evelyn needed someone to be a maternal figure. She needed some kind of mom. When he suggested it, he did not receive the response he expected.

“No,” Maria insisted, “I’m not going to be Evelyn’s mom.”

“She needs someone.”

“I can’t be it,” said Maria, “I’m hardly maternal material.”

“It’s not about being maternal,” insisted Phil, “I just need someone to do… mom things. You know, girl time and help with “the talk” and stuff like that.”

“Phil, I am not her real mother. I am not going to lie to her and pretend to be her mother.”

“I’m not asking for you to be her mother. I’m just asking you to,” he cut himself off, unsure of what he was really asking. He stared down at the table between them for a long moment before speaking up again.“So, what am I supposed to do? How can I explain to Evelyn that she has no mom and  nobody to take the place?”

“You put it that way, it sounds horrible,” snapped Maria, “Look, Phil. Everyone who has ever been adopted has wondered where their birth parents came from. This is normal. It doesn’t mean you have to drop everything and try to find a solution for it right now. These things take time.”

“I don’t think it is so much about finding her birth mom as it is just having a mom around,” countered Phil, “I don’t know if I can do everything all by myself. She’s going to need a mom to explain the birds and the bees and how to put on a bra and stuff that I really don’t want to have to explain.”

“Nobody can do everything by themselves. If you need help with things, Phil, you know any of us will help. However, I’m not her mom. I have no authority to call myself her mom. I’ll help. But I’m not going to be her mother.”

“She asked if you were her mom.”

Maria’s mouth fell open in shock, “No. Really?”

“Yeah,” Phil held in a laugh, “I couldn’t believe it. Almost drove the car into oncoming traffic.”

Her face erupted in a bright red blush, dark eyes opened in shock. Phil had never seen her thrown this far off balance in her life. The picture of poise was erased from her face as she stammered for a response.

“W-what did you tell her?”

“Uh,” Phil tried to recall back to the conversation, “I don’t remember. I was more concerned about what got the idea in her head in the first place.”

“Don’t encourage her,” insisted Maria, panic settled on her brow, “I am begging you.”

“Hey, take it easy. I’ll correct her,” he chuckled nervously, “She’s not going to go walking up to you saying ‘Mama.’”

Phil mulled over his thoughts for the rest of the day. Evelyn wanted to play as soon as he got home. Feeling guilty for being busy with work, he agreed to sit through a tea party.

She wore a purple princess dress and took the spot at the head of the table. Actually the table was an overturned plastic crate with a blanket serving as the tablecloth. Little white plastic teacups and the painted teapot were scattered around the table. All sorts of friends encircled the table. Her pink plush teddy bear and floppy-eared rabbit took the side spots. Directly across from her was the plush Captain America doll, complete with a shield made from the lid from an oatmeal can and decorated with a sloppy four-year-old painting of the stars and stripes.

“Papa! Come sit next to Cap!”

Phil sat cross-legged between Cap and the bunny, his legs cramped at the miniature proportions of the tea party. He started to reach toward one of the cups.

“That’s not your cup. That’s Bunny’s. Yours is this one,” she said, pushing the new cup toward him before dropping her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper, “Bunny drinks her tea with too much sugar.”

“Oh,” said Phil, “I see.”

“Do you want cream or sugar, Papa?”

“I’m fine, dear,” said Phil, “How does Cap like his tea?”

“He likes it with some sugar,” said Evelyn matter-of-factly, “But not as much as Bunny. He likes just a little teeny, tiny bit of cream.”

Phil pretended to sip his tea. She bustled about and continued to top off the tea with the participants of the party. She picked up Cap and started to walk out of the room.

“Evelyn, where are you going?”

“Cap wants cookies,” said Evelyn turning towards him with wide eyes, “I’m going to go and get him Fig Newtons.”

“Does Cap want cookies or do you want cookies?”

Her wide Bambi-like eyes almost made him cave in and let her have the cookies anyway. Fig Newtons weren’t all that bad for her either… they were mostly fruit anyway. But it was the principle of the thing.

“Honey… no cookies until after dinner.”

“Papa…”

“No is no.”

“Not even for Cap?”

“Not even for Cap.”

She huffed but then sat back down and held Cap out in front of her, “Cap, we have to eat imaginary cookies.”

After consulting with the doll for a long moment, she turned leaned back around to look at Phil, “Cap isn’t happy he has to eat imaginary cookies.”

Phil chuckled as she pouted, “Cap is just going to have to deal with it.”

They sat at the makeshift table, playing, until Phil had to make dinner. Evelyn hung around his knees as he stirred the pot of beef stew on the stove. The warm aroma of cooked meat wafted through the air. He made a double batch so there would be plenty of extras for tomorrow.

“Evey, I have a meeting I have to go to on Saturday,” he said as they ate, “So Maria will be by to watch you for a few hours.”

“Where are you going?” she asked as she attempted to fit an extra large bite of steak and potatoes in her small mouth. He tried not to laugh as well when he attempted to wipe off the extra contents that ended up on her face. She twitched away from his napkin, fussing and annoyed.

“I have a fancy dinner to go to,” said Phil, “And some important people will be there who I need to meet. It’s not too far away. If you need me, I’ll be a phone call away.”

He glanced at the fancy invite on the table. It was actually a conference dinner of mutant activists which he needed to attend as research for mutant recruitment. Professor Charles Xavier was the keynote speaker, the forefront and face of the mutant rights movement. He also happened to hear his contact for recruitment, Anita, had turned in an RSVP and he would have a chance to meet her face-to-face. Out of everything, he was most nervous about meeting her. Friday couldn’t arrive soon enough.

But he still had a full week to get through. Evelyn settled into her school easily and seemed to get along with the other kids. The preschool was a nice one, not just because of the proximity to home and the credentials of the teachers. But, Phil managed to find a small coffee shop across the street which didn’t just have a perfect view of the area, but a pretty view inside as well. Phil found himself sitting at the counter day after day for a glimpse of the owner.

Phil thought she was pretty. She had golden hair curling softly over her shoulders in big, glamorous curls. She had wide topaz eyes set in a heart shaped face.  A flick of kohl eyeliner adorned the corners of her eyes, blocking out laugh lines. Slim, slinky, with long legs and cute little magenta kitten heels. She almost looked like Irene Dunne or another actress from that golden age of Hollywood. She walked like she was performing a ballet. Dressed in a flowered apron, she was like something out of an old magazine or postcard.

“Here is your vanilla latte, Mr. Carlton,” she said, setting a large blue porcelain cup in front of him, “Just the way you like it.”

“Thank you, Jennifer,” said Phil, his heart fluttering softly in his chest and palms sweating so intensely he had to discreetly wipe them off on his jeans, “You can call me Phil if you want to.”

“Alright, Phil.”

She wiped her hands on her flowered apron. Her smile was intoxicating. With a nervous chuckle, she hurried back to the display case, “I’ll get your coffee cake.”

“Thank you,” said Phil.

She hurried over to the little display case and pulled open the door. There were a number of varieties of coffee cake in there as well as muffins and danishes. All of them were crafted lovingly by the hands of the master baker in the shop. Perhaps it was Jennifer who made the baked items. He didn’t know. It occurred to him that he should ask.

She came back around with the little plate with the cake and a smile. Her lips were tinted the color of strawberries and her cheeks like the dusting of dawn over the desert. The nervous feeling Phil harbored before was pushed into overdrive now.

“Here you go,” she smiled, putting the dish in front of him, “Enjoy.”

“I will. You do such a lovely job.” God, he was out of practice at this.

“Oh,” she blushed, Phil beamed, “Thank you.”

“This is a great little spot,” he said, “How long have you been working here?”

“Oh, pretty much as long as it's been open. I own the shop,” she said, “And the bookstore next door. It was my mum’s and she left it for me and my sisters when she passed away. Someday, I’ll pass this on to my own daughter.”

“It’s a really great place,” said Phil, ignoring the fact that his daughter’s preschool was just up the road so convenience played a big factor in him choosing this location to set up during the afternoons.

“Thank you.”

Phil smiled, “So, how old is your daughter?”

“Well, I don’t have a daughter yet,” she admitted, “But someday.”

Phil smiled a bit. So, she was single. That was good. And she liked kids. That was also good. He could ask her out and it wouldn’t be awkward or misconstrued as something it wasn’t. That is, if he could ever get to a point where he felt good asking her out. Right now, he felt twitchy and nervous. His palms were sweating, heart pounding, knees trembling with nervousness. He silently berated himself for acting like a teenager with a crush.

“Do you... want to meet for dinner sometime?” asked Phil, surprising himself with his own boldness.

“S-sure,” she stammered, a blush blossoming on her cheeks, “I’d love to.”

“Great!” smiled Phil, feeling his heart thud against his chest at maximum speed, “Is Wednesday good for you?”

“Sounds lovely!”

“I’ll call you so we can work out details, is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” she said, pulling a pen out and scrawling her number on a napkin, “Call me and we can, uh, arrange something.”

“Great,” smiled Phil, holding the napkin tenderly, as though it was woven from the absolute finest silk from China rather than just regular paper. He didn’t even realize that he had said ‘great’ three or four times in a row. His vocabulary was becoming horribly limited around the beautiful lady.

Phil felt dazed, happy, as he walked across the road to pick up Evelyn. He could have turned cartwheels he was so excited for his date. The smile wouldn’t leave his face. Everything was sunshine and rainbows. Nothing else mattered. He scooped up Evelyn and hugged her. She looked at him quizzically.

“Are you okay?”

Phil tried to contain his smile a bit, but his cheeks hurt, “I’m absolutely great, Evey. Absolutely great.”

He was grateful she didn’t press. It would be awkward to try to explain dating to her. The “birds and the bees” speech would come eventually. Someday she would scare the hell out of him by being interested in boys. And he would have no choice but to scare the hell out of those boys in return, for the sake of his daughter’s dignity. For now, she was a carefree girl who didn’t need to know about such things. She skipped along at his knees as they walked home from preschool. She leapt the stairs two at a time until she stumbled about halfway up.

“Whoops,’ Phil caught her shoulders so she didn’t tumble down the stairs, “Careful, Evey. Don’t be reckless.”

“Daaaad.”

“Evey,” he countered, “Indulge your crazy father and be careful.”

“Fine!” she ran ahead when he unlocked the doors. He turned when he heard footsteps running upstairs behind him. Maria grinned as she came into view with big grocery bags in hand.

“I feel like your maid, Coulson,” she smirked playfully, handing the bag off to him, “Doing your grocery run for you.”

“Carlton,” he corrected softly.

“Oh whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “You’re the only one who uses that name. It’s the worst kept secret in SHIELD.”

“Still have to use it when around civilians,” he said, “Come on in. I could use a hand.”

They started making dinner together in the small kitchen, bumping into each other as they put together their component dishes. Maria took over the coleslaw while Phil began to brown the meat to start sloppy joes. Maria rummaged through the vegetable crisper, looking for something.

“Are you out of carrots?”

“Uh,” Phil tried to remember, “No, there should be some in there. I keep them as snacks for Evelyn. Try the top drawer.”

Maria shot him a look as she pulled out a container from the cheese drawer, “Someday, I am going to organize your fridge in a way that makes sense.”

“Please don’t. I would never be able to find anything.”

“I’ll do it on Wednesday when I get off work. I’ll bring Fury’s label maker.”

“I would help,” he said with a smile, “If only to get my hands on that label maker. But I have a date.”

“A date?”

“Yup!”

“With who? Anyone I know?”

“You know the Iris Cafe? Across from Evey’s preschool?”

“Yeah, I live right above it.”

Phil blinked, “Really? How long have you lived there?”

“Since Fury relocated the core strike force up to New York,” she explained, “To answer the question I know you are thinking, I didn’t pick it out. However, I think Fury did it on purpose to make sure someone was nearby to keep an eye on the cactus baby.”

Phil slouched, “Not you too!”

“Oh get over it! Everyone has their stupid SHIELD nicknames they have to deal with!” She waved him away. Phil opened his mouth to comment but Maria interrupted him, “What about the date?”

“Uh, the owner of the Cafe, Jennifer.”

“Really?” Maria began shredding the carrot into ribbons, “How did you score that?”

“I asked nicely,” said Phil, “I’ve been going over to the cafe for a few weeks while waiting for Evelyn to get out of school. We enjoyed our time together. I thought it was worth a shot and apparently she did too.”

Maria looked like she wanted to say something but she was cut off by the sound of loud crying. Phil felt panic sink into his chest when he looked up and saw Evelyn sobbing as she walked in, holding Cap to her chest.

“Papa,” she sniffled, “I… I got Cap stuck in the zipper and... he… he ripped.”

“Oh no,” muttered Phil, his eyes glancing over at the ground pork cooking on the stove. He couldn’t leave it unattended for too long. “Uh, Maria?”

“Fine,” said Maria, putting down the box grater, “Come on, dear, I’ll fix him.”

Evelyn sat next to Maria on the couch, cradling Cap lovingly between her hands. She still had tears pouring down her face but her sobs stopped when she watched the seams fuse back together at Maria’s command. Phil chuckled at the suture kit that Maria kept in her purse but was silenced with a single glance.

“Papa said mommies help sew things,” said Evelyn cautiously. Phil bit his lip, listening for Maria’s response.

“I’m not your Mom, dear,” said Maria carefully, pulling the thread tight. She was creating a suture, not ideal for sewing up a child’s toy but that was the only stitch she knew, “But, I’m going to do all I can to help your Daddy. ”

“So... you’re kinda like a mommy?”

Maria sighed, rolling her eyes a bit, “Sure, I’m sort of like a mommy.”

“Okay,” said Evelyn, looking tearfully over at her doll, “I wish you were my mommy.”

Maria knotted the thread and pulled it through the stitches so it would stay tight against the fabric. She sighed again, defeat creeping across her face, “I’ll tell you what. You can call me Aunt Maria. I’m here to help, but I’m not your mom.”

Evelyn smiled even though her eyes were still moist, “I like that.”

Maria pulled out the scissors and trimmed the loose thread. The result was a blue smear of thread across the top of the doll but it was better than loose stuffing falling out of the top of his head. Maria handed the doll back and Evelyn held it close, wiping her eyes dry with her free hand.

“Thank you, Auntie” said Evelyn, pressing the doll so close to her chest that it looked like a stranglehold.

Somehow, Maria figured she wasn’t just talking about mending her toy. Phil whispered a quick thanks but Maria waved him away. She sighed. She had not signed up for this thing of whatever she and Phil had. It was largely out of pity, although she preferred to call it sympathy so she felt less guilty. Being a single parent was never easy and Phil deserved a chance to take a deep breath now and then.


	9. Dating Game

“How are you doing?” asked Bobbi, adjusting his tie for him.

“Nervous as hell,” admitted Phil, “It has been a long time since I’ve been on an actual date.”

“Oh, how long? Or are you not one to kiss and tell?”

Phil looked indignant, “Bobbi!”

“I’m kidding,” she grinned, “You need to relax. Women can smell fear. We're like wild animals."

She made little cat noises and curled her fingers into claws. Phil chuckled, a smile stuck on his face as he adjusted the sleeves of his suit. She picked out navy blue for him, a departure from his usual black suit. She said it was more approachable. He didn’t need to look like an accountant when he was on a date. The blue and green geometric print tie was from Evelyn last Father’s Day. He knew Maria was probably the one who picked it out but it was always the thought that counts.

"You can dive face first into a national disaster without blinking but for something as simple as a dinner date, you get nervous? Phil, your priorities are whacked."

"I'm not completely new to the dating scene. I chased a bit of tail back in the day," he explained with a smile.

“So long ago that ‘chasing tail’ was the term you used for it,” noted Bobbi with a smirk.

"That’s not the only thing that has changed between now and then. I'm in it for something with a bit more substance now. And, when you have a lot riding on the date, it becomes more stressful. And I really want this one to work out okay."

Bobbi’s sass abated when she saw the pure sincerity on his face, eyes sparkling with hope and a nervous smile across his face. Nervous energy coursed through his veins. His eyes flicked anxiously to the clock to his watch and back to the clock as though my sheer force of will he could speed up time.

Evelyn lingered around her father’s knees. After years of seeing him in a suite, she tugged on his pant leg to get his attention. "Papa, where are you going?"

Bobbi raised an inquiring eyebrow as Phil stumbled to attach words into a coherent line of sentences. He eventually lowered himself to one knee so he could look her in the eyes.

"I'm meeting a lady for dinner," he said very calmly and seriously.

"Like a friend?"

"Yes," he smiled, "a lady friend."

"Like Maria?"

"Oh my God," Bobbi snickered but stifled it in her fist. She swallowed her laughter and tried to look serious while Phil acted like a parent.

"Sort of," said Phil, choosing not to pay attention to Bobbi's outburst. "Her name is Jennifer and I really like her. So I am going to spend a little time with her. I'll be back in time to read you a bedtime story. But you need to be good for Bobbi, okay?"

"Yeah," she promised, "Can I meet your lady friend?"

Phil swallowed nervously. "Maybe. We'll see."

"When you say that, it means 'no,'" she pouted, crossing her arms.

Bobbi, again, had to stifle her giggles. Phil even found himself smiling. "I'm not saying no, I'm saying maybe. It's different."

“Whatever, Papa,” sighed Evelyn. She ran to the living room to play with her toys, pigtails flailing behind her.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow, “She’s getting to be a sassy kid. You better watch out when she gets to be a teenager.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to let it get that far,” insisted Phil, grabbing his jacket, “So, do I look alright? Nothing too embarrassing? Nothing between my teeth?”

Bobbi grinned, “I think that’s about as good as it is going to get.”

“I'm leaving,” announced Phil towards the living room, skipping out before there were any more digs at his ego.

Her long golden hair was slightly teased at the top so her bangs lingered in front of her eyes like lacy curtains in a window. Her wrap dress of cream calico clung in all the right places and billowed enough to leave everything to the imagination. A faint floral damask print flit in and out of sight in the shadows and light as she moved.

"You look nice," he said when they arrived at the small restaurant, hidden between two older brick buildings. If it hadn't been pointed out to him, he would have walked right past it and never ventured forth into the narrow shop. The warm goldenrod walls were decorated with frescoes of flowers and pastoral scenes. He ordered pasta and wine but barely paid any attention to the menu. The words wove in and out of focus. Somehow he ended up ordering red wine, like he actually knew what he was doing. He hoped to calm his nerves before the food arrived or else he may not have completely lost his appetite in favor of nervousness.

His heart still had a hard time beating at a comfortable rate. It twitched nervously between his ribs. Sometimes he was acute aware of his own heartbeat, breathing, even the inner workings of his digestion. Other times, it seemed as though he was one with the air in the room and nothing mattered but lingering in that carefree moment.

"You know, you've never told me where you work," she noted. It was the time of settling into pleasantries to fill the void between them in hopes there might be a bridge between the gap. She sipped her water so a faint apricot-colored lipstick stain adorned the edge of the glass.

"Security," he said, falling back on the well rehearsed lie. He felt bad about being untruthful, but he feared she would not take well to the truth. Furthermore, Fury would have a fatal heart attack if he knew Phil was speaking so flagrantly on the subject.

"Like a bodyguard or something?"

"Yeah. Kinda like that. It’s a private firm."

"Huh," she made a little curious sound, "Is it dangerous?"

"Can be," muttered Phil. His mind flashed back to green gas and blue eyes but he swallowed the memories with sip of cabaret. "Not so much anymore. I'll say this, the job is never boring."

"I’m sure," she chuckled.

He was eager to change the subject. "What about your job? Did you always want to own the bookstore?"

"Yeah. I started working there when I was about seven. My mother would give me odd jobs such as stocking shelves. I usually ended up reading the books as much as stocking them."

"Do you have a favorite?"

"Picking out your favorite book is like trying to pick out your favorite child. I don't know if it is possible," she paused and pondered it for a while. "I guess Little Women is my favorite. It always reminded me of me and my sisters."

“You have sisters?”

“Two older sisters,” she smiled, “Abby and Sam. Abby is a children’s book illustrator and Sam is a nurse. Because neither of them wanted the store, it ended up in my hands. What about you? Do you have siblings?”

“No,” said Phil quickly, “No, I was an only child. My parents both died a while ago. I’m the last one of the family.”

“Oh,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed heavily, “I have my daughter so…”

“You have a daughter?” she interrupted.

Phil froze. He hadn’t intended to mention Evelyn just yet. He wanted to see how serious Jennifer was about kids before he brought up that he already had one. As cold sweat pooled on his brow, he prayed this wasn't a dealbreaker. He cleared his throat and clarified, “Uh, adopted daughter. Her name is Evelyn. She’s four years old now.”

“Oh,” said Jennifer. Phil didn’t know what to make of that sound. He may have been overthinking things, but he knew, but “Oh” could mean anything from shock to disappointment. Relief flooded him when he saw her smile. “That’s adorable.”

“She is,” smiled Phil, relaxing again. “I love her lots. She's a... little shining light in my life.”

She paused for a long moment, mulling over her glass of wine. Phil pondered over what he just said. It was so stupidly poetic, it would have been laughed out of a soap opera. Finally Jen broke the silence, “I’m just really curious why you wanted to adopt a daughter. It’s interesting.”

“Ah, well,” Phil hoped he wouldn’t have to explain. He didn’t have a good story, or even a half-baked lie, to tell her. “Well, at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do… uh, given where she was. And, like I said, I didn’t have any family so I guess…”

His pager buzzed in his pocket. As thankful as he was to have an excuse to stop his story, he couldn’t help but wonder who would be trying to contact him at this time. Peeking down, he saw Nick’s familiar number flash across the screen. Frowning, Phil fought to find the button to silence the buzzer.

"Do you need to get that?"

"No. Not important," insisted Phil, "Don't worry. "

She didn't appear convinced, a thin blond eyebrow quirking in interest. Phil sighed. Every nerve in his body yanked at him, trying to get him to get in contact with Fury. If it was an emergency, he would never forgive himself for ignoring his phone. But it just wasn’t fair. He flagged a server.

"Do you have a phone I can use?" His cheerful smile belied how mortified he felt. He swallowed the sinking feeling that everything was going wrong and it was beyond redemption at this point.

"Just over here," said the server, jerking his thumb to a payphone by the restrooms.

Phil fiddled with the cord of the phone as it dialed. He gripped it, pretending he was throttling Nick for being an unwelcome third wheel on his date. If this was anything short of a nuclear bomb being dropped, he was going to give Fury a piece of his mind the very next time he walked into work.

"Nick!" He exclaimed when it connected, "What the hell are you doing?"

"What the fuck is with the attitude?" Nick sounded downright irate, "We have a compromised agent in the Maggia operation and they need a place to lie low. He needs a couch to crash on. You're in the neighborhood."

"No. I actually am not. I'm in Greenwich right now."

"What the hell are you doing in Greenwich at this time of night?"

"I'm on a date, Nick!"

Nick was quiet on the other end of the line. "A what?"

"A date! When you go out with a nice lady and you buy her dinner and go to a folk concert."

"You're at a folk concert?" Judgement oozed from Nick's voice, "I am disappointed in you."

"She likes folk. I'm giving it a try. I actually need to get back to her because she is going to be concerned."

"Is your cactus baby with you?"

"On a date? No! Of course not. Bobbi is watching her."

"You are leaving her with a kid?"

Phil rolled his eyes, "Look, Boss, I can't talk right now. We can debate my bad parenting choices later. Meanwhile, I am keeping my date waiting. Sorry I can't help but... in fairness, this is my night off!"

"Fine. I'll dump him with Hill!" Nick chuckled, "Good luck. Hope you get laid."

A burning red blush crept onto his face, "Nick, that's not what I'm-"

"Jesus, I was trying to be funny."

"It's not!"

Phil went to the restroom to splash water on his face in a futile attempt to remove his painfully burning blush. He hurried to straighten his tie and pull the batteries from his pager. He wasn’t sure how bad things were blown, but this couldn’t have made any sort of a good impression.

“Can today be over?" he groaned into the mirror before nervously returning to Jennifer. He arrived just in time for the lights to go down and the first set of the music to start. Jen appeared to be examining her fingernails. The man at the table behind them was standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder. His long, blond hair brushing against her cheek. She was sitting up straight in her chair and making a point to stare straight forward and not look at the creep.

“My date will be right back,” she said intensely, her voice with an uncharacteristic edge, “You need to back off.”

“Come on, Babe…”

“I’m not ‘babe,’” she interjected, “Leave me alone.”

Phil stepped up to the table, “You heard the lady.”

“The lady is not havin’ any fun,” he insisted. The man smelled like alcohol, his eyes unfocused. Clearly he stumbled over from the bar and was not thinking clearly. Phil sighed, straightening his tie.

“Now you’re getting personal,” stated Phil. The man was standing right in front of a chair. Phil noticed that a green patterned rug ran the length of the room. He planted one foot on the tile floor and one on the rug, jerking the rug backward so the man stumbled and fell back into the chair. Phil smirked,“Have a seat. Enjoy the show. Stay away.”

Fortunately, the man seemed to be terribly shocked that he ended up thrown into a chair and too inebriated to figure out exactly how it happened. Phil glared at him until he managed to slink away back into some shadowy corner of the bar. Perhaps to nurse another margarita.

"Sorry about that," whispered Phil over the twang of acoustic guitars and banjos.

“Don’t worry,” she said, relaxing as he took his place across from her, “Thanks for that. He was being a creep.”

“I’m sorry you had to endure that,” he said sincerely, “If I had known…”

“Don’t worry,” her smile reassured him, “It happens. Did your call go well?”

"It was my boss. Needed to ask me about a work thing.”

"You said it was nothing important," she replied with a soft smile.

"It wasn't," he assured her, "routine stuff."

Phil tried to maintain composure as his ears were assaulted by the mocking laughter of the banjo. Folk was not his favorite. He never was able to find out how people could listen to more than one Bob Dylan song in a row without wanting to sew their own ears shut. Was the off key singing meant to be ironic or did people just tolerate it because they liked the rest of the music? He never received a clear answer.

Fortunately, the food was good. He could bury himself into a pile of cheese stuffed ravioli and meat sauce, relishing in the pungent tomatoes and explosion of spice and green herbs. Jen ate about half of her pasta, something creamy with clams. Her eyes, the color of robin’s eggs, became lost in the music. She stared beyond the players, belong the sounds, in the direction of something which wasn’t there, or perhaps something between reality and imagination.

He decided he liked her profile, the curve of her nose and the way her lips were shaped. He liked her voice: somewhere between a spinning waltz and birdsong. She had an easy presence, but that only served to make him feel more guilty about fibbing. He almost broke down and told her everything, interrupting the music to sneak in little truths. But he couldn’t stop worrying about what she would say or think. His finger tapped nervously against the table as he fret.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulled out of her trance.

“Yeah,” he hesitated. This was his chance, his perfect opening. He didn’t take it. “Just jitters, it’s nothing.”

The band began to wrap up. Phil insisted on paying the bill even though Jen made the reach for her purse. They walked out into the warm night, the almost summery sky reached down from the heavens into the city streets discussing what they admired about the city. Velvety dark fingers coiled around streetlights and buildings. Pinpricks of light shimmered orange and the neon signs glowed like an aurora against the vastness of space. Tracer beams shot across the dark windows of the car as they joined the flood in the city streets. He took her home, helping her out of the car and escorting to her front door.

She lived in a narrow townhouse wedged between other townhouses. Glowing golden windows shimmered against a dark brick facade and curling wrought iron gates. Her front door was painted spring green, with brassy fixtures.

“I had fun,” smiled Phil. It wasn't a total lie. He walked her to her apartment door.

“I’d love to do this again,” she returned his smile. He wondered if she meant date or the folk concert. He hoped for the former.

“How about we catch something in next time? I can introduce you to Evelyn," he said, hedging his guess.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m sure she will be happy to meet you too,” smiled Phil. The idea was thrilling. He has visions of a future of a home with a mother and a father and all the proper trappings of a family dancing through his head. He had the idea of a home, a life, and a real future. A smile lingered over his face as he drove home.

“How’d it go?” asked Bobbi when he got home.

“Great!” he smiled, “She’s… she’s fantastic. Jen is a sweetheart.”

“ You’re so gooey. Can’t wait for the wedding bells.” She wore a cheeky grin as he loosened his tie at long last. Phil shot her a look.

“It’s a first date. A good first date just indicates potential, nothing more. And I think there is some potential. She’s nice and she wants kids. She is checking off a lot of boxes for me.”

He decided to leave out the fact that he had no idea how to introduce her to his life in SHIELD or explain exactly how Evelyn came into his life. And he had no idea how to break it to her that folk music made his ears bleed. Discussions were eminent if this relationship was to work out at all. The main concern was finding out where to start.

Phil arrived at work the next morning running off of a few hours of sleep and excessive amounts of caffeine. Evelyn had kept him up half the night with questions about Jennifer. What color was her hair? What color was her dress? Did she have kids? She should have kids because she wanted to play with them. Did she like Captain America? Phil was not allowed to continue to see her if she did not like Captain America. What kind of food did she like? Did she like cookies? What kind of cookies? It was very important that she like chocolate chip cookies or it was obvious that she was a horrible person.

Phil eventually had to cut her off and tell her to get to bed or else she would be too tired to stay up for a movie night the next evening. He was too excited to sleep that even with the prescribed sleeping aids he only was able to get a few hours in with mixed results. Sleepy feelings lingered in the corners of his eyes, dragging him down into a mire of incomplete thoughts and uncontrollable yawns. He had yawned so many times, tears rolled from his eyes and his jaw was actually becoming a bit sore from the strain of being forced open. Maria brought him a coffee as he slogged through his morning work load. It was a neverending swamp of paperwork and memos of varying degrees of relevance.

“You look worse than the guy who crashed on my couch last night,” she as Phil gulped down half the mug of coffee in one swallow. It took a long second before he resurfaced.

“Yeah, thanks. Evelyn kept me up last night with questions about Jen.”

“I’m sure you would have rather have been kept up all night with Jen instead.”

Phil choked on his coffee. His throat constricted so the liquid made a U-turn and came out his nose. Hill was renowned for her lack of tact as well as her uncanny insight into seemingly everyone and everything under the sun. After five years, she never ceased to find new ways amaze him. She continued as he tried to clear his head into a box of Kleenex.

“Bobbi told me that Evelyn was hilarious as you tried to explain dating.”

“I’m surprised how much she understands,” shrugged Phil, snorting to make sure he could breathe through his nose again, “And how much she misses the point entirely. It’s never boring.”

“You know what else isn’t boring? Being there for your teammates,” said a sardonic voice behind Hill.

“Morning Director Fury.” Maria quickly addressed him and went to her work station, her own pile of paperwork awaiting.

Phil said good morning but added, “In my defense it was my night off, Boss.”

“I know.” Nick responded relaxing against the doorframe. “I wanted to know how it went.”

Phil struggled for a second to find a word for what he wanted to express. He didn’t want to sound overly sappy but it seemed like there was no other way to explain things. “I really like her Nick. She's just... she's..."

Beautiful? Interesting? A figure from a dream? He was having trouble with adjectives today. Language fell apart like paper in the rain. Anything he managed to slap together was a poor representation of reality.

“Did you sleep with her?” He was rudely pulled from his brief solipsism by Nick's pointed question.

“You’re never one to beat around the bush,” commented Phil. "No, I didn't because I'm a gentleman."

Fury raised an inquisitive eyebrow but fortunately did not press further or go into depth why Phil was painting himself with a rather broad brush nor did he begin to list of the ungentlemanly things Phil may or may not have done in the past. Instead he changed gears, “How much did you tell her about your day job?”

“I didn’t realize I was getting the full interrogation,” Phil leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms indignantly across his chest. “I didn’t tell her anything. I said I was in the security business. Don't worry. I didn't spill any trade secrets. Gonna take more than a pretty lady to loosen my lips."

“Depends on the lady," sassed Nick, "In that case, you should know if you are going to run with scissors you better be damn sure you aren't going to trip."

"You're being cryptic again, Nick," warned Phil, “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t make me break out the ‘Nick Fury decoder ring.’”

Fury shot him a look from his one good eye. His voice lacked mirth for the first time in the conversation. "You start on the slippery slope of lying, it’s going to become hard to maintain. Everything will come to light one way or another eventually."

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m very good at what I do,” countered Fury, “I’ve had years of practice. You, on the other hand, have no poker face.”

“So, what’s your point?” He didn't even bother trying to deny the poker face accusation. Nick wasn't exaggerating too much.

"My point is, you need to figure out what it is you want so I can figure out what to do with your tangled mess of a life."

"I doubt my life is the most tangled one here. We all live in a tangle of our own design."

"But it's gotta be the sort of tangle that you want to deal with. If you are twisting your life in a mess for something that isn't worth it, that isn't what you really want, what do you have at the end of the day?"

"So you're saying don't date her?" Phil challenged.

"No, I'm saying make sure it's what you want and that it's worth it. I mean, she could get freaked out if you tell her the truth. We're not exactly normal."

Phil glanced down at his desk at the stacks and stacks of case files of mutant students. A stack of applications for the academy, lined up in neat little rows awaited his order. Life leaned more toward the abnormal with every passing day.

"I'll think about it Nick," he offered, "I know what you are trying to say and I get it. But Jen is special. I wouldn't have asked her out if I didn't think there was something there. I wouldn't have subjected myself to folk music unless I really liked her."

"Folk, man, seriously," Fury shook his head, "make her a mixtape of some real music. Not that twangy hippie nonsense.”

Phil opened his mouth to say something when an intercom system rattled through the halls. “All Level 6 and 7 Agents please report to conference room A.”

“What?” Phil stood, grabbing his service side arm and following Fury out the door. “Nick? What’s this about?”

“Duty calls, Coulson.”

“Carlton.”

“Whatever. Nobody calls you that,” he said, “You need to get on a bus. This is an observation mission for you.”

“Observation?” he asked, “What am I observing?”

“You’re going to meet someone who is going to become a thorn in your side,” Fury turned, “His name is Magneto.”

 

 


	10. Do You Even Lift?

He enjoyed wearing a suit for work but was not terribly comfortable with dinner parties and having to don a full tuxedo. The bow tie rubbed awkwardly against his chin, unlike his standard long tie. On top of that, parties were full of superfluous decorum. There were too many forks to keep track of in a formal setting and too many etiquette rules which required observation. He was also the only SHIELD representative there and could not find a friendly face anywhere around. Sure, there were a lot of people but he didn't know any of them. Fortunately, he met with Anita early on.

She waited in the foyer, glancing around the room. They had made telephone contact so they could pass on some information for the event and described their appearance so that they could find each other at the event. She was a small Asian lady in a long purple dress and a sheer white shawl embroidered with golden flowers draped over her shoulders. Her hooded dark eyes sparkled under the golden chandeliers. Phil walked up and introduced himself.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carlton. I am looking forward to working with you," she had a slight bow to her head as she shook his hand.

"Likewise," he said, "I'm very new to the world of mutants so I am grateful to have a guide."

"They're not really different than other people," she smiled, "You'll see pretty quickly."

They walked from the foyer into the ballroom. Behind them, picketers lined the street. Phil blocked out the rumble of the crowd, focusing on Anita. He had a concealed weapon his holster, snug against his tuxedo vest. It was only in case things took a turn for the violent and he needed to defend himself. With a little luck, everyone will behave and his gun could stay where it was.

"So, what is your story?" asked Phil as they walked toward the main hall, "What got you into mutant activism?"

"My brother," she replied, "He's an Alpha Class mutant. I started getting interested when I was helping him. I met others. I knew I had to help somehow."

Phil smiled, "Are you a mutant too?"

"No," she shook her head, "I'm a boring human."

"I wouldn't say 'boring,'" commented Phil as they reached their table. He pulled out Anita's chair for her and pushed it in once she was seated.

"So, what about you?" she asked as Phil took a seat next to her, "I understand SHIELD is interested in mutant recruitment but I'm not exactly sure what it is you want to accomplish or what kind of people you need."

"Well," he said, pulling at his bow tie because it was impossibly tight against his throat, "We're a national security organization, as you know. There is a great deal of talent in the mutant pool and we would like to ensure those opportunities have a fair shake. We have some singularly unique positions where they may be able to thrive, perhaps even better than a regular human."

"So you want them for military positions," she deduced.

"Some of them," admitted Phil, "But also science, computers, aviation, research and development. We have a full academy so students can be in the company of other people of their intellectual caliber while they train and study. There is a lot of opportunity beyond combat and security positions."

Anita nodded, pondering his words, "And this has not been open to mutants previously?"

"We're at the mercy of congress. They control the majority our budget."

"Ah!" she interjected, "That explains it."

"My superiors decided that," he paused, "invoking the ire of congress was a risk worth taking in this case. The benefits of a wider recruitment pool far outweigh any sort of trouble we might cause in the world of politics."

Anita laughed, covering her mouth politely with the back of her hand, her voice like a waterfall. "I like that attitude."

The food arrived: a choice of steak topped with caramelized onions and mushrooms or a fish stuffed with herbs and vegetables. There were also options of red and white wine, respectively. Phil took steak. He noticed Anita had the fish. She politely thanked the server every time he refilled her water.

"You said your brother is a mutant?"

"Yes," she smiled, "Martin has the ability to see short glimpses of the future."

"Wow," Phil blinked, "That's… remarkable."

"It has its downsides," she admitted, "He's never really sure about where his visions fit in with the world at large. Sometimes he can focus and get more information but it requires concentration and he tires out before there is a coherent picture. There is also the physical effects of being a mutant. The worst of which is that he has very sensitive eyes. He has no choice but to stay in low-light areas or wear lots of eye protection when he wants to go outside. You can see how this would be difficult growing up."

"You couldn't play outside much," considered Phil.

"Or go to school or have many friends," she added, "On top of the stigma of being a mutant."

"I see why you chose your line of work."

"Someone has to do it," she insisted, "Stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves."

Phil nodded, "I understand that. I also understand that the mutant world is in an interesting state right now. A lot of people have a lot of stake in things."

Anita chewed slowly, taking her time to swallow before answering."I'm not sure I understand what you are getting at."

"Well, I was put on an observation mission earlier this week to learn about Magneto…"

"Oh, yes," she said, her expression darkening a bit around the edges, "The Brotherhood."

"My boss said I needed to learn what I could. I was there at the mutant demonstrations on Wall Street and watched him crush a car with one hand. It's… impressive," Phil left out that he was terrified out of his wits. Tactically speaking, he couldn't even begin to think how people would be able to successfully combat that sort of thing. Modern day life was possible largely because of metal. What could you do when someone could tear metal apart like tissue paper? "But I don't understand what their issue is. Why they are going to such extremes? What is the point?"

Anita was silent for a long moment, "It's complicated. Lots of things are complicated. To condense everything down to an insultingly basic statement, the Brotherhood believes in mutant superiority rather than merely mutant rights. Their opinion is that the best reaction for extremism is more extremism. It's a counter-protest taken to the farthest possible degree. Which, obviously, doesn't help people just trying to live a normal life."

"Like you and your brother."

"Precisely," she nodded, "I think you will get more out of talking with Professor Xavier. He has a history with Magneto and other members of the Brotherhood. All in all, he's the expert."

"Well, then I'm in the right place," Phil smiled, "I can't wait for the Q and A."

He was surprised when Professor Xavier took the stage. The man was small, bald, and wheelchair bound. But he had a voice that boomed across the stage, clearly audible even without a microphone. His eyes were the color of a stormy ocean, power palpable even at a distance.

"Good Evening," he said, voice clean and precise, "Thank you all for coming this evening. This show of support for human rights has become more important now than it ever has before. The relationship between mutants and humans is a mutually beneficial one. We are here tonight, and always, to support and promote that relationship. I want to begin by thanking all the people who have stood united for fairness and equality. Without your help, all would be lost from the very start."

Phil leaned back and let the words wash over him. Phil absorbed every ounce of information he could find, an eager student. The early history of mutations was fairly common knowledge but hearing it from the perspective of someone who walked through history… or rolled through history.

Phil felt something tickle the back of his head. It was like being poked in the brain from the inside out. The edges of his visions became fuzzy, like an aged photograph. His eyes flickered over to Anita, feeling slightly dizzy. She was laughing at something, so he laughed as well but it sounded forced even to his ears.

His head plunged forward but he caught it and nodded, acting like he had been paying attention the whole time. A haze rested precariously over his head but Phil thought it may have been due to drink. Normally he was not this much of a lightweight but a good deal of stress weighed on his shoulders. The confrontation on Wall Street left him shaken and, it seemed, open to outside influence. Perhaps it would be best to stick with water for the duration of the evening. The speech went on to conclude a few minutes later. He thanked the audience and wheeled off the stage. Phil applauded, a smile across his face.

"What do you think?" asked Anita.

"I think I have a lot to learn. But, it is going to be interesting."

"It's always interesting," she said, standing and adjusting her shawl across her shoulders. "Come on, I have more people you ought to meet."

Phil let himself drift back into the crowd of excited dinner guests. There were a number of other people who Phil chatted with. His pocket was stuffed with business cards and contact information by the end of the night. Anita chatted with several people. She smiled and laughed at people's jokes. Being around her was easy, like she was everyone's oldest and best friend. Finally, he managed to work his way toward the man of the hour.

"Phil, I would like to introduce you to Professor Charles Xavier. Professor, this is Phil Carlton of SHIELD."

"It is wonderful to meet you," said Phil, taking the professor's hand.

"It is interesting to see government representation here," noted Xavier, returning his handshake.

"Only in the interest of helping opening doors for mutants," said Phil diplomatically, "The mutant population is a valuable human resource. It is foolish to disregard them. Not when there is always a great need for extraordinary people."

"Well, extraordinary is hardly unusual for us. I am glad to see people are recognizing our potential. You are working with Miss Dan? I do believe you two will get along just fine."

Phil and Anita looked at each other and then back at the Professor. It was a puzzling statement but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Already a small crowd gathered, all vying for the professor's attention.

"I won't keep you," said Phil, "But I appreciated your speech. It really helped me. Thank you very much."

"It is my pleasure."

"I would stay and chat more," Anita noted with a glance at her gold wrist watch, "But I have an early flight back to Portland."

"Maine?"

"Oregon," she corrected, "Although I wish it was the shorter flight."

"Ah," he laughed, "I didn't realize you were that far away. You flew all the way out here just for this?"

"Travel is the best part of my job," she shrugged, "And I don't mind. It's fun to go to new places and meet new people."

Phil nodded. Part of the cool thing about SHIELD was travel as well. Even on the dangerous missions, being in locations of interest or importance held a certain thrill. He fell into stride next to Anita as they made their way back to the main foyer.

"I'll walk you out," insisted Phil.

"That's very kind of you."

They looked back out into the street. It may have been Phil's imagination, but it seemed like the crowd had grown in size and volume since they arrived. It at least doubled in size. throughout the duration of the dinner and speech. Signs poked out from the sea of rage, full of slogans profane and inhumane. His stomach clenched, his own anger boiling.

"Should we find a back exit?" asked Phil.

"Nope," she insisted, striding forward and out the doors before Phil could say or do anything to stop her. Angry faces slipped in and out of focus. Their voices swelled and then settled into a noisy static. No voice rose above the others, instead it stayed as a neverending rumble like the raging sea. Anita's face assumed a mask. Her eyes stared straight ahead while she briskly made her way through the crowd, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Phil followed, mirroring her actions but found himself unable to block out the tumultuous shouting. If he was on duty, he would try to find ways to break up the shouting crowd. He couldn't think of anything at the moment but that doesn't mean it was a hopeless cause. Instinctively, he began mentally recalling tactical support procedures but he was pulled from his thoughts by a louder than usual voice.

"Hey, Lady!"

Phil wrapped an arm around her shoulder, blocking her away from the crowd. He shot a glare into the crowd, hoping that this didn't result in a scene. His vision narrowed as he looked around the street, trying to find a clear exit among the throng. The cold metal of the gun pressed against his torso, reminding him of his options. Whoever yelled didn't follow up, fortunately for everyone. They walked onto the street and over to the parking garage with her car.

"You didn't need to stand up for me," she smiled, "I've been doing this for a long time."

"Just being nice," he insisted, holding the car door open for her.

"It's very kind of you. I appreciate it. But this is far from my first rodeo. I've done my fair share of staring down the crowd." She climbed into the car, rolling down the window to continue talking with Phil.

"I'm impressed."

"It's a dangerous line of work. Do like the Boy Scouts and be prepared."

Phil chuckled, his mouth turning up into a smile, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Here's looking at you, kid," she smiled, turning over the engine of the rental car, "I'll be in touch."

Phil waved as the car took off down the street. He walked over to his own car, tiredness beginning to settle in. The sun was only just barely sinking below the horizon. Pink and orange beams of light waltzing across the windows and chrome.

Monday afternoon, Maria picked Evelyn up from school. The little girl was unusually quiet and Maria knew better than to press. She hurried to the family apartment and ushered the little girl inside, pulling her backpack off with one easy swoop. Phil was playing cheesy retro rock but it was nearly drowned out by a dull roar of machinery. She cracked the door to the living room open and sure enough, Phil was running the vacuum back and forth across the living room like a madman. The crooning of Buddy Holly overwhelmed Maria's attempts to get his attention.

"Phil? Phillip? COULSON!"

He stopped in his tracks, "What? Oh, hey guys, how's my little girl?"

He came over and took Evelyn from her arms kissing her head and making squelching noises causing her to giggle and squirm out of his arms. Girly squeals of glee turned into bubbling laughter.

He turned to Maria, "You're early."

"You need to answer your phone. There was an incident."

"What? Doom? Magneto?"

"No, not a work thing. Evelyn was sent home early."

"Why?" He turned to Evelyn and put her down, "Honey, what happened?"

"Just normal stuff..." She pouted, "I don't know why I got sent home."

Phil blinked for a second, "What did Mrs. Burns say?"

Maria opened her mouth but Evelyn cut in, "She said I was weird."

Phil felt his blood boil, throbbing at his temples. He looked over at Maria and she shrugged her shoulders. Maria's voice was strangely quiet. "Her teacher was kind of hysterical when I got there and... frankly, I'm not sure I believe what she said."

Phil turned quickly back to Evelyn. "Did Mrs. Burns yell at you?"

"...Yes." She started tugging on the sleeves of her yellow cardigan.

"What were you doing when she yelled at you?"

"Helping."

"With what honey?"

"Clean up."

"What were you helping clean up?" asked Phil, eyebrows folding together. Nothing was making sense. There was no good reason to call Evelyn any kind of name.

"Macaroni." She smiled with her two front teeth missing. The gap in her teeth created a little bit of a whistling noise, "It went everywhere after Billy threw it at Naomi because he was trying to get it in her swirly hair."

"Okay honey," he patted her head, "How were you helping Mrs. Burns clean?"

"Like this." The girl ran around her dad to the love seat and picked it up all by herself, holding the furniture over her head as easily as if it was made of styrofoam. Maria and Phil gasped, looked at each other and covered their mouths attempting to stifle whatever noise came out to avoid startling her.

"She yelled at me that I can't be picking up large objects, Papa." The girl continued, unaware of the adult's reaction, "I thought a car is a large object, not her desk..." She slurred the j in the word because of her missing teeth, causing Phil to laugh nervously.

"Honey," he whispered, "Put down the love seat. It's not normal for kids your age to pick up such heavy objects. I'm sure that's what Mrs. Burns meant."

She put it down with an audible, but not loud, thud, "So I'm not supposed to lift?"

"No, Honey, only small things. Ask me before you pick something up that's as big as you," Phil's mouth was running on autopilot.

His brain was not capable of firing off much more than, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"

"Okay...but it was fun," she admitted, toying with the loose thread on her cardigan again.

"I know dear, just, you need to be careful, Accidents can happen when you pick up big objects so it's not a good idea. We'll talk more later," he ran his fingers through her hair. Actually, he needed a little time to get his thoughts in order before he could say or do anything else. "How about you run in the kitchen and get the cheese out for spaghetti and meatballs. I'll be there in a bit, okay?"

Her eyes lit up and she ran into the other room, her auburn hair fluffed out behind her like a cape.

"Phil..." Maria looked at him as he turned around and sighed.

"I know," he said, trying to cut her off, "This looks bad."

"Has she done anything like this before? Does Fury know?"

"No! I'm just as shocked as you are. I really didn't see this one coming." He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, trying to relieve the headache he knew he was going to have later on.

"Coulson with that strength... when she gets older and has teenage hormones, she might hurt someone by accident."

"I know, I know. Just… how am I going to explain this to Nick?" His heart pounded as he looked at his little girl. She skipped as she walked around the kitchen, pulling down plates while standing on her tip-toes to reach. "How am I going to explain this to… anyone?"

"Phil," warned Maria, "You can't let this one go. We're going to have to address why this stuff is happening. We need to come up with a plan in case of accidents. There is a lot of stuff needed to be done in order for her to keep going as she's going."

He nodded, slowly, as realization sank in. "Tomorrow...right now I have someone to call..."

"Who? Did you have company tonight?"

"Yeah... A date." Phil's body language sort of deflated as he walked over to the cordless phone.

"Wait, Jennifer from the cafe? Was that tonight?"

"Yeah."

"But you said you two hit it off. Don't cancel." Maria attempted to walk over to him but stopped herself.

"Maria I have to, Jen...she wouldn't understand."

She inwardly sighed and went in the other room to avoid gathering any more pity for the man. She hurried Evelyn off so that Phil could make the phone call he needed. Giggling, Evelyn began to help put dinner on plates. Meanwhile, Phil closed the door to the master bedroom, sitting on the bed. It burned him up that Nick was right. Whatever lies he fabricated to make things work with Jen were not going to hold up under scrutiny. And there wasn't a lie big enough on the planet to explain away what he just saw with his daughter. He looked down at his phone in one hand and the number doodled in loopy numbers on the napkin. The idea of having to call and deliver this message was sending cracks through his heart.

Maybe it was a small blessing that the phone went to voicemail. Jennifer's soft, sweet voice rang from the other side of the line in a prerecorded message, "Hello, this is Jennifer's phone. I'm not able to answer right now. Please leave a message and the number you can be reached at and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks! Bye!"

"Hey, Jen," said Phil quietly, "Uh... something has come up. I'm...I'm so sorry. I'm not gonna be around so much anymore. It's a... a work thing. I'm sorry if this disappoints. I'm so, so, so sorry."

He rested a hand against his forehead. No matter how many times he said sorry, it would never be nearly enough. There isn't any way this could break her heart or anything like that but it was an evening ruined... for the both of them.

"Bye," he said so quietly that his voice almost disappeared.

He had to sit there on the bed and try to recover. The dreams, the hopes he had been building up, the idea of maybe having a full family disappeared into nothing. He sighed at the end of it, going into the bathroom to splash water on his face and calm down. He needed to put on a happy face for Evelyn.

With a sigh, he recalled the good times with Evelyn. He had a daughter. He had a life, and a good one. Evelyn would need him and that was fine. The little girl needed a father, he reminded himself. That was important. Standing, he made his way into the kitchen where Maria and Evelyn were sitting, ready for dinner.

"Daddy!" smiled Evelyn from over at the table, "Come have dinner with us!"

The pasta, that was going to be used for romantic purposes was instead used for a family purpose and was then put into Tupperware containers. Evelyn stood on the chair to get them down for Maria, as she filled them. Evelyn skipped across the kitchen to put the leftovers in the fridge, but not without reward by grabbing a Fig Newton.

Phil noticed, "Evey, hun, just that one cookie. Now go to your room, I will check in later to make sure you're either reading or working on your schoolwork."

"Okay, Papa."

He and Maria sat in the living room on the couch, simply enjoying the silence. Phil got up and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, offering her one. He opened it and spoke, "It's hard enough trying to date and be a single father. It's not any easier when your daughter can also pick up a cement truck without breaking a sweat. Tell me honestly, is that the sort of mess a woman would like to get into?"

Maria shrugged and popped the cap on her bottle, "If she's the right one, it shouldn't matter to her. Everyone's a mess. It's just a matter of if they're your kind of mess."

Phil shook his head, "That may be true, but I can't take the heartbreak of trying to go through dating knowing damn well that most of the women I encounter won't be willing to handle this. I really can't take that kind of aggravation."

Something hurt inside Maria's chest. It was like something broke and it was all her fault. She shook her head, chastising herself for thinking of such a thought. It wasn't really her fault. None of this was her fault. Phil's life was not influenced by her, nor were his decisions.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "Truly. I wish you could find some lady who understood and... well, and loved you regardless of if Evelyn is special or not."

Phil laughed without mirth, looking down at his half empty beer bottle, "It's not gonna happen. How, just,  _how_ do you explain this? How do you say 'I'm a spy and I adopted this girl and she's... special... I can't explain it. I don't know anything about it. This is what you are getting into.' And then expect them to stick around?"

"You didn't even try with Jennifer!"

"I can't ask this of her."

"You don't know until you try," insisted Maria, "You could have had something great. Why do you feel the need to sabotage your own happiness?"

"It's complicated," grumbled Phil. He wished those two words weren't the repeating soundtrack of his life."I'm not going to set myself up for failure. And I'm not going to put Evey through repeated rejections. What is that going to do to her? She's going to feel like nobody loves her. It would be difficult enough if she was a normal kid but now it's just going to be worse."

Maria looked at her hands before looking back up. "I understand. It just seems unfair to you."

"I'm being selfish," he dismissed.

"You're allowed to be a little bit selfish," interjected Maria, "Insofar as your happiness is concerned."

"But I'm happy with Evey," said Phil, his heart breaking a little bit at the idea, "It's… It's fine. Right now, her needs are more than mine. She's a child."

They sat in comfortable silence, thinking over each other's words. Below them, the city hummed with life and somewhere out there Jen was listening to his phone message. Phil hated to cut things off but, he kept reminding himself it was for the best.

"Well, Captain Hill..."

"Commander now," corrected Maria, "It just became official today."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she grinned, "They're doing a small ceremony for a couple of promotions. If you'd like to be there, you're more than welcome."

"Absolutely," promised Phil. He held up his beer bottle to toast her, "Congratulations, then, Commander for all your good luck and being the one and only woman ever not to run away screaming from my home life."

Now he had a mess to clean up. He stayed up half the night trying to assess the damage and figure out how to remedy the situation. Eventually tiredness overcame the busy hum of his brain and he wandered into a restless sleep. The sleepy feeling didn't leave when his alarm buzzed to rouse him in the morning. He stumbled through the day in a haze. So much so he almost didn't notice the lady on the street attempting to flag him down.

"Mr. Carlton?"

Phil turned at hearing his civilian name and saw the person who addressed him right away. It was a woman in a blue suit with a tight pencil skirt. Her eyes were shielded by a pair of bronze-tinted aviator glasses. She held a very official-looking clipboard. Everything about her screamed "agency." Her heels clacked on the sidewalk as she caught up with him on his commute to work.

"My name is Jan Quincy and I'm with AIM, Advanced Ideas in Motion. We're a government-funded think-tank," said the strange woman handing Phil a business card. He had to shift the paper bags in order to free his hand. "My department specializes in neurological biochemistry. Namely, we want to try and see what the human brain is capable of doing. Specifically, we want to take a look at your daughter."

"Why is Evelyn of interest to you?" said Phil slowly. He had been careful to keep her special condition under wraps as much as possible for this exact reason, mostly at Nick Fury's suggestion. If Evelyn was going to have a bunch of tests on her body, it should be her decision when she was old enough to make it. Or it would be because Nick gave him no choice.

"Just following up on some leads, recommendations," she replied vaguely, "I'm sure you have wanted some answers as to why your daughter is... special."

"I have Evelyn enrolled in a schooling program already," lied Phil, attempting to dodge the request quickly and easily, "I don't think those folks would much appreciate me dropping out."

The woman's mouth twitched into a frown but quickly righted itself before she spoke again. "What a shame. In any case, keep the card. Let me know if you change your mind."

"I will keep this," promised Phil, although he intended on running it through the SHIELD database before making any further action.

"Your daughter is quite a special little girl," said Jan with a phony-looking smile, full of too many teeth and not enough lip, "She could be invaluable to bringing about great changes in the world. Please consider that."

Something about her grin make Phil incredibly ill at ease. The woman looked like a shark in a fish market, eager to find some victim to eat. Like hell was he going to let Evelyn turn into shark chum.

"I'll give it due consideration," said Phil diplomatically, putting the business card into his jacket pocket and watching the lady disappear into the crowd like a ghost in mist. It was eggshell white with a sickly yellow logo and neatly typewritten data. It was a professional job. Someone was funding them or they were otherwise making money somehow. There was a paper trail somewhere. It was just a matter of picking it up.

He immediately ran to work to run background checks on the organization. There was surprisingly little about them in their files, considering that she said they were government funded. Phil sighed, chances were their funding was rolled up in red tape. It would take days to pick up the paper trail and many phone calls to very boring bureaucratic officials.

Nick wanted to hear all the details about Evelyn's incident. Phil reluctantly sat down to the meeting, spilling his guts. He told Nick everything he knew, from the lifting to the strange meeting with AIM that morning.

"I'm pretty sure it was her preschool teacher who pointed AIM in her direction. She's the only one outside of SHIELD who has seen Evey's," he fumbled for a word for a long moment, "Abilities"

"We can send someone to talk her down," replied Fury, "Get the heat off of you. That way, you won't have to fake your own death again."

"I don't think that's necessary. I found a Montessori school closer to home so she can finish up pre-school there. She starts kindergarten this fall. Clean slate. Nobody will know anything about her there. I hate moving her around but I don't think I have a choice."

Nick paused looking at Phil. He knew Phil was going to come up with a gameplan, it was just a matter of time before he put it into action. He handed Nick the business card.

"I want them investigated," he requested,"I have a hunch they're up to something. Why else would they be so interested in someone like Evelyn? Why else would they follow up on this lead so quickly? I hope I'm wrong but I would much rather be safe than sorry."

"I'll pass it along but we have a backlog to deal with already. Our investigation department is already busy with Latveria."

"I know," Phil interrupted, changing gears quickly, "Just make sure someone looks at this. They smell fishy to me. I mean, what kind of people go around looking for kids with superpowers and try to recruit them? It seems questionable to me."

"We'll open a file," promised Nick, "And we'll keep an eye open and see what comes up. That's all we can do right now."

"That works for me."


	11. Elementary My Dear Coulson

Before her first day of kindergarten, Phil had to establish some ground rules for his daughter. There was a list of things she was not to do in front of the other kids such as heavy lifting, showing off her strength, and picking fights. It had been a long time since she received any unwanted attention. Every once in a great while he got junk mail from AIM but he threw it in the bin without even opening it. As far as he knew, they hadn’t reached out to contact Evelyn directly and he was keen on keeping it that way.

Nick offered to put an agent on campus to keep an eye on Evelyn during the day and do damage control if she slipped up. Phil didn’t want to do it for the sake of giving the little girl a sense of autonomy. Furthermore, he felt confident that there would be no problems and setting someone up would just be a waste of valuable manpower. Although he had a hunch Nick was fully intending on setting up an agent anyway, regardless of if he gave permission.

She sat at the breakfast table, too excited for her first day of school to eat her corn flakes. Her gingery hair was pulled into twin braids on either side of her head, frizzy from sleeping on them. The purple ribbons hung in limp loops. He would have to re-do her hair before she went off to class. Her Minnie Mouse nightgown was a bit too big for her and hung off her shoulders a bit. Phil learned to buy clothes which were slightly too large for her because she would grow into them quickly.

Phil sipped his tea, “Remember what we said, Evelyn.”

Her feet dangled from the chair, feet still not quite reaching the ground. She said the words with little interest because Phil had repeated them with her time and time again.“It’s not important to stand out. It’s important to do the right thing. And sometimes the right thing means blending in.”

She picked up her Captain America doll from the counter. Cap had two different colored blue eyes now. The button for the left one fell off a month back. Evelyn cried when she couldn’t find it. But Phil managed to replace it with a spare button from one of his old dress shirts which was almost the same color.

“I can be like Cap and keep a secret identity.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” smiled Phil, “Come on, let’s get you ready. Kindergarten awaits.”

About an hour later, Phil walked up to the charming red brick building with Evelyn holding his hand. Despite her repeated requests, he did not drop her off a block away and let her walk in and introduce herself to everyone on the first day of kindergarten. Although, Lord knows, she would do it. But that just wouldn’t be very responsible parenting on his part.

“Did you remember your lunch, Evey?”

She almost rolled her eyes at him while she shrugged her blue canvas backpack onto her shoulders, her vintage tin Captain America lunchbox in her other hand, “Yes, Papa. And I have my backpack and my school supplies. I’m ready.”

“I’m just checking,” he said, looking down at his daughter.

They spent the night before meticulously picking through her wardrobe to find the perfect thing to wear. Evelyn finally settled on a purple flowered jumper, little black Mary Jane shoes with lacy socks, and Phil tied a matching bow in her hair. Over the past five years, he had become fairly adept at doing things like tying hair bows and picking out dresses. Had anyone asked him before that night in New Mexico if he could foresee this becoming his future, he probably would have denied it or assumed they were crazy. But, now that he was taking his daughter to her first day of real school, he felt like he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Evelyn ran ahead, kicking up the first crunchy fall leaves as she ran and giggling, “Come on Papa! I’m going to be late!”

Phil followed her down the sidewalk and into the school building. It took a few minutes to find the classroom but it was unmistakably a kindergarten class. The room was festooned with brightly colored posters with the alphabet or numbers on them. Toys were stacked on child-sized shelves. Painting easels were set up by the window with thick stacks of paper already pinned to them.

The desks and chairs were far too small for any adult to sit in comfortably, and probably more than a little awkward for Evelyn. Truthfully, she wasn’t that much taller than the other children her age but there was enough of a difference that it was noticeable to both Phil and the other parents. Phil had poured over parenting books to learn about things such as growth spurts to better prepare himself for her future. According to his reading, it isn’t unusual for a child to be a bit taller for a year or two. It just means their growth spurt hit a bit earlier than most. That was probably what happened with Evelyn. It would all even out in the next few months.

The child development books were, however, woefully lacking with information about a child who could pick up a car with one hand. Every book on the planet was woefully lacking on the subject.

“Evey, let’s find your teacher,” called Phil over the kids who were already starting to buzz loudly with excitement of the first day of school.

Phil glanced around the room and it took him about three seconds to find Mrs. Keesler. She was a larger woman in a bright dress of many blocks of color and massive, chunky jewelry in the shape of school supplies. It was as though the kindergarten classroom came to life.

“Papa, I think that’s her,” said Evelyn pointing toward the lady.

“Don’t point, Evey, it’s not nice,” corrected Phil automatically but he steered her over there anyway.

“Uh, Mrs. Keesler? I’m Phil Carlton and this is my daughter, Evelyn.”

“Oh my, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you both,” she said, taking Phil’s hand and shaking it exuberantly. The lady had a very firm grasp. “And how are you doing today, Miss Evelyn?”

“I’m doing well, Ma’am. You can call me Evey if you want,” she said, almost curtsying a little. Phil had to stop himself from swelling up with pride for his daughter.

“Alright, Evey, let’s find you a seat.”

As Mrs. Keesler led Evey to one of the desks with a bright name tag, Phil felt his pager beep in his pocket. He shouldn’t have been shocked to see Nick Fury was trying to reach him. Sighing deeply, he walked over to where Evelyn was settling into her desk.

“Evey, I have to go to work now,” he said, kneeling down to the level of the desk as she squirmed to get comfortable in her seat, “If I’m not here to pick you up at noon, then look for one of the people from work to come and pick you up and…”

He dropped his voice to an undertone so no one else would hear it but him and Evelyn.

“…remember to ask to see their badge first, okay? Even if it is someone you know, like Maria.”

Evelyn nodded solemnly, “Okay, Papa. Be safe.”

“You be good today, okay?” said Phil at his regular volume, leaning forward to kiss Evelyn’s forehead goodbye.

“Yes, Papa.”

“I love you,” he said to Evelyn as he stood up.

“I love you too.”

“Do you remember the emergency contact numbers?”

“Dad,” said Evelyn, drawing out the vowel in annoyance, “You can go now.”

Phil smiled, trying not to laugh, “Okay. Bye Evey.”

They fell into a routine every day. Phil would drop her off at school, go to work, and pick her up in the afternoon. The evenings were their special time, after dinner, when he would get a chance to play board games with her or watch movies or go to the park so she could play with the other kids. They were, in every sense of the word, a normal family.

Except they weren’t.

School started well but Phil still made it a point to work through things carefully every day to make sure her power stayed in check. It was a precaution he felt he needed to go through. Not that Evelyn particularly abused her powers but all it took was one person to be looking the wrong way for the cat to fly out of the bag.

One day while they were at the park, she picked up a Honda Accord to help a mother duck and her little row of ducklings get across the street. Phil noticed, racing across the street to get her to stop. She put the car down as the duck family disappeared into the tall grass.

“Evey, what are you doing?” he exclaimed, brushing off the dust from the front of her yellow dress. Motor oil stained part of the sleeve. He did not relish the scrubbing it would take to get that out. “You could have been hurt! Someone could have seen you!”

“Papa,” she squirmed away from him, “I was just helping!”

“Evelyn, you have to be careful. If someone saw you, then...” He cut himself off. He didn’t know how to explain it to her. “Evey, we talked about this.”

“Nobody saw me!” She stamped her foot, “You told me I was supposed to be helpful and do the right thing.”

“I also told you, you need to be careful. You’re not,” normal, was the word he was going to use but that would be unduly mean. He quickly corrected himself, “like other children. You can’t just…”

He sighed, standing. He took her hand and briskly walked back to the car. Evelyn pouted at him when he buckled her into her spot but he ignored her. There was no way she was going to charm her way out of this one, not with everything at stake. And he worked so hard to go over this every single day, reminding her to be careful!

“I’m disappointed in you,” he told her, shutting the car door with a thud. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Evelyn’s pout had dissolved into silent tears. Now he felt bad. He knew he shouldn’t. She needed discipline and she wasn’t going to get it if he rolled over every time she got upset with him. She needed to know when she wasn’t doing the right thing. Actually it was right, but not the right way to go about it. Explaining the difference was tricky navigation even in the best of times.

“Evey, do you understand why I’m upset?”

“Because I used my strength where people might see.”

“No, I’m disappointed that you didn’t listen to me,” explained Phil, “I’m only trying to keep you safe. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want people who might try to hurt you too…”

He swallowed, focusing on the road. He didn’t want to think of what could happen. Even the best case scenarios left him feeling uneasy. The point was not to scare her, but he wanted her to know there were real risks.

“I love you very much, Evey,” he admitted, “And if someone hurt you, I don’t know what I would do.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at the back of his seat, wiping her eyes. With a sigh she said, “I love you too, Papa.”

Dinner was mostly stony silence. They were polite to each other but not particularly vocal. The usual joy of their encounters was muted. Evelyn brushed her teeth and got ready for bed. Phil lingered in the living room. There was a good deal of paperwork left to do as he set up the new recruit programs.

Currently, there was no way to train people with exceptional physical abilities. They had what the agents fondly called “geek school” for the students who tested high intelligence or mental aptitude. But there was currently nothing similar for people like Evelyn who were unique physically. There was no way for them to train or to study their abilities at the level that they should. He was working with the R&D department to find ways to rectify things and build up a new school within the academy for recruits with super human abilities. It would be invaluable once the mutant recruitment pilot program began in earnest.

But things like this required money. Money that was not necessarily in the budget. At this rate, he would need to start holding SHIELD bake sales to come up with start up funds. The idea didn’t seem too insane, the more he thought about it. Bobbi and Maria actually had halfway decent baking skills. Maria actually had an almond cookie recipe to die for. It took a moment, but became aware of the fact he was actually starting to consider a bake sale as a real solution for building a new school rather than a humorous flight of fancy. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he needed to get to bed. He managed to keep awake long enough to crawl under the covers and get his head on the pillow.

He awoke a few hours later to a piercing shriek coming from his daughter’s bedroom. It was Phil’s worst nightmare realized. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he scrambled for his service gun in his nightstand. He fumbled, sleepily trying to find the drawer but then he heard the pattering feet of Evelyn racing down the hall.

“Papa!”

“Evey? What’s going on?”

“I had a nightmare.” she quietly said as she stood in the doorway.

Phil sighed in relief and put the gun back into the nightstand, closing it tightly. Evelyn was holding Cap in one hand and her blue blanket in the other so tightly her knuckles appeared bright white even in the darkness of the room. Tears made her cheeks shine. Phil patted the end of the bed and Evelyn jumped toward him. The bedsprings protested the sudden impact.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” as he embraced her.

“It was the gold man,” she whispered, “He picked me up and he threw me and…and I kept falling.”

Phil sighed and hugged Evelyn. This wasn’t the first dream she had about the gold man. While it didn’t happen every night, it happened often enough that Phil could safely call it a returning nightmare. The dreams got worse when she had a bad day or was feeling stressed.

“Sweetie, there is no gold man,” whispered Phil, holding his daughter close, “There is no one here to hurt you.”

“And if there was? What if it was real?”

He looked at her earnestly in her shimmering eyes. “There is nobody here to hurt you and if there was, I would be here. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. You know this, honey.”

She gripped Phil even tighter, drying her tear-stained cheeks on his nightshirt. Phil started rocking her back and forth to get her to stop shaking in fear. Every time she dreamed about the gold man, she would be shaken to her core. It seemed like a simple nightmare but there seemed to be more to it. There was something about the gold man that scared Evelyn in ways that Phil didn’t understand. He kept Evelyn close until long after she stopped crying and fell back to sleep. He carried her back, tucking her into her bed with Cap at her side.

He paused over the doll for a moment. “Keep her safe, Cap.”

Elementary school went by fast, all things considered. Phil couldn’t believe how time slipped along. With a blink, Evelyn was a ginger-haired eight-year-old. He couldn’t be more proud. She did well in school and, for the most part, there were no problems. There were a few minor slip-ups of her strength but most could be argued away by natural causes.

 

“Hey, honey, how was school?” asked Phil as he put his own work away. Evelyn slid her backpack off and slumped into the chair at the bar.

“It was okay. We couldn’t finish the group science project because Max was out sick with chickenpox. So we can’t get graded on it until he’s back and feeling better.”

Phil paused, “Honey, you haven’t had chickenpox, have you?”

“No.”

He stopped for a second, considering it, “Have many of your classmates had chicken pox?”

She shrugged, “I dunno. Some have.”

The idea seemed peculiar. He did some research the next day. He hadn’t thought to get Evelyn vaccinated for chickenpox, assuming she was just going to pick it up naturally from one of her schoolmates. At least then, she would have the antibodies for it.

“It’s not too unusual,” explained Parker while Phil helped him pack up his office. “Some people go their whole lives without ever catching chickenpox. Although, if you are going to catch it, you want to catch it young because it is a pain to deal with as an adult.”

“I just ask because her teachers say the third grade is experiencing a chickenpox epidemic. I’m a bit surprised she hasn’t caught it,” Parker took a cardboard box from Phil and placed it on the cart.

“She may not have been exposed to the virus. She may have some really good antibodies in her,” he paused for a second as his eyes sparked with an idea. “Was she breast fed?”

Phil shrugged, “I don’t know what her birth mother did.”

Parker adjusted his thick, black glasses on his nose. He had been wearing those Buddy Holly frames ever since he was a nerdy, but gifted, kid in the academy. “Right. Sorry. You two are so close that I forget that she was adopted. Short of knowing her early medical history, I can’t really know much for certain. It could just be that you have an exceptionally healthy little girl.”

“Could it be that it has something to do with her… abilities?” asked Phil. He had been taking Evelyn in to get her yearly physicals with Parker. It was easier to utilize the SHIELD resources over trying to find a physician who wouldn’t freak out about her. “I was willing to accept this as a growth spurt but things have gotten weirder.”

“It could have something to do with it,” admitted Parker, stacking file folders into another cardboard box, “Her structural development is highly advanced for someone of her age. It stands to reason her immune system would be equally advanced. I haven’t seen anything like this before or since. But I have no plausible reason for it, other than maybe the X-gene.”

“Can we test for it here?”

Parker shrugged, “Sure. But it takes about a month to get a sample through the testing process. Although if I am being honest, it will probably take longer. Evelyn would be at the bottom of the list. We have a backlog of samples which need cataloguing.”

“How bad of a backlog, do you think?”

Parker’s smile lacked mirth. “Let me put it this way: if I worked twenty-four seven for a year with a full crew, I might be able to catch up.”

Phil didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “That bad?”

“We have to get samples from everyone incarcerated in the Fridge, our agents, FBI files, CIA files, Interpol files, national databases, and so forth. All of them have to be isolated, printed, catalogued, and digitized. We’ve barely made a dent in those, much less our pet projects. So if you are going to get her tested, you need to find somewhere else to do it. Or, alternatively, wait a few years and hope we’ve advanced the technology enough to speed up the process.”

“Well, if anywhere was going to improve things, it would be wherever you are,” said Phil with a smile, “I wish you luck at Oscorp.”

“Thank you,” smiled Parker, “It will be nice to get back into research and out of the field. For once I will be able to work without the fear of being shot at. Also I’ll be working with Curtis Connors. He’s doing some research on the human genome that I think has a good deal of promise for practical medical applications.”

“Let me know if there is anything you need,” assured Phil, “We’re all here for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Parker replied. He picked up the last box and looked around his office with a sigh. “I’m going to miss everyone.”

Phil walked into the apartment complex a few hours later, briefcase in hand and a new stack of papers to go over. There was so much paperwork associated with recruitment, he felt like he would drown in a neverending sea of triplicate. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the stranger standing right inside the stairwell on the way to the apartment.

“Mr. Carlton?”

He wore a suit, which Phil looked upon with the eyes of absolute judgement. The pants were a dark pinstripe but the blazer was solid colored. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in a haphazard way, which seemed to be the latest trend if the window displays at the mall were to be believed. The messy knot of tie was solid blue and didn’t quite match up with the aquamarine shirt underneath to the point where Phil half-suspected the man must be colorblind to miss it.

“Yes,” he hesitated.

"I'm with the think tank Advanced Ideas in Motion. I’m here about your daughter.”

Phil crossed his arms in front of his chest. He did not like the idea of AIM being physically in the same building as Evelyn. She was with Maria but he didn’t like this creep being anywhere near her. He felt his heart flutter with nervousness in his chest.

“What about her?”

“I’m sure you have been visited before," said the dark-suited man with a smirk, "It would be astounding if AIM had gone without investigating this... truly intriguing lead."

Phil almost rolled his eyes. Either AIM had really shoddy records regarding their visits or they were attempting to play him like a violin. He strongly suspected the latter given the man's slippery used-car-salesman persona. It took everything in his power to keep staring forward and avoid glancing over to the door.

"Yes," said Phil tiredly, "We have been contacted with AIM before. I stand by what I said then. Evelyn's case is being reviewed by other scientists. The study is ongoing. I can't pull her out, especially now."

"Who, specifically, is studying the young Ms. Carlton?"

"That's not important," countered Phil.

"Actually, it might be. We have data-sharing programs with many school districts, top universities and other think tanks. We could easily collect Evelyn's data from them."

"I'm afraid that's classified," said Phil with a glint to his eye. The dark suited man looked annoyed at his stonewalling but Phil stood firm. He stared down gangsters, politicians, terrorists, and evil aliens. He sure as hell wasn't going to be intimidated by a sloppily dressed fast-talker with over-gelled hair. That man was not going to come one inch closer to his daughter.

After a potent pause, the other man finally spoke again, "Shame. I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Carlton. Your daughter could be the next step human evolution."

Somehow, Phil got the feeling the man was speaking less about evolution and more about the other thing. He felt his blood boil at the idea of his girl being used for potentially nefarious ends.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've turned down the United States government as well," said Phil, his words halfway disingenuous, "I'm not interested in my girl being used by anyone."

"Well, one only hopes that you change your mind, Mr. Carlton," said the man as he started making his way toward the door, turning back to throw his final words over his shoulder, "Your daughter is exactly the sort of thing humanity needs to advance.”

He waited until the man was out of sight before he hurried to the apartment. His fingers fumbled, attempting to find the keys and shove the correct one into the lock. He threw the door open and shut it behind him, locking both the regular latch and the deadbolt.

“Evey?”

“Papa!” he heard the thud of her tiny feet race up the hall and his breathing returned to normal. She leapt into his arms, giggling as he pulled her into a hug. When he turned the corner, Maria was standing up and brushing off her knees. It looked like they may have been in the middle of a tea party.

“Did you see anyone odd around here this afternoon?” he asked, “Someone who shouldn’t be here?”

“I did see an odd car outside, a black newer model Ford sedan. It looped around the block twice before parking.”

“Who was in it?”

“Didn’t get a good look,” she shrugged, “But I think the driver might have been a bright blond male, on the skinny side.”

Phil nodded, “Sounds like the guy. He’s with AIM.”

“Really?”

“They know where we live,” muttered Phil, “They could-”

He didn’t want to say the words in front of Evelyn because he didn’t want to alarm her. But he did feel there was a real possibility that they would try to contact her directly. Beyond that, they could abduct her, track her, reveal her great secret to the world if they wanted to.

“We have to move,” said Phil softly.

“What?” Evelyn looked troubled, “Why?”

Phil stammered, trying to figure out exactly what to say to Evelyn. Guilt rippled through him, this wasn’t the first time they had to move. He feared it wouldn’t be the last.

“We need to keep you safe.”

Maria raised an eyebrow at him. Phil looked at her, over to Evelyn, and then back to Maria. His eyes pleaded for help. None arrived. Evelyn frowned, her eyebrows drawing in on each other. “You keep saying things like that, but I don’t understand why!”

Phil still didn’t have an answer that he felt good about. It wasn’t their first move. But she had been a lot more accepting of it then. She was a child. It was an adventure for her to go and see somewhere new. She was also too young to understand what was going on. Now, she wanted answers and had enough sophistication to understand what was going on. It wasn’t fair of him to hide answers from her anymore.

“So, I will have to go to a new place, away from my friends?” she frowned.

“I’m sorry, Evey,” he said, hugging her close, “I really am. I wish you didn’t have to but…”

He knelt down to look at her face-to-face, “There is a group of people who want you to go to one of their labs. But I don’t have much information about them and I don’t know what exactly they want to do with you. I don’t know if they want to hurt you or not.”

“But they just want to put me in a lab?” she looked confused, “But it might explain why I am…”

“Evelyn, honey,” Phil held her hand, “If they put you in a lab, you won’t be able to go to class with your friends or play like you want. They wouldn’t even let me see you for long periods of time. Maybe someday we will find a way to figure out why you are special but… I want you to have a real childhood. I want you to be able to play and have fun.”

He bit his lip to keep from spilling more. If he was to be perfectly honest, that was why he held on tightly to Evelyn eight years ago in New Mexico. She deserved to be a child and not a lab rat. Nothing had changed between now and then, in that respect at least.

“Are they gonna come and get me?” she whispered, wringing her little hands.

“I won’t let them,” said Phil while he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to his chest, “I will do everything to keep you safe. But if I am going to do that, we’re going to need to hide away from them.”

“We’re going far away?”

“Not far, just across town.”

“That’s not bad.”

“You can go to the same school,” assured Phil, “and you won’t have to change your name again.”

“I guess that is a good thing,” muttered Evelyn, rubbing her arm a bit and looking down, “But… do we have to?”

“Yes,” said Phil softly, “Yes or else they will keep coming. We will never be free unless we get away now.”

He didn’t want to scare her like this. She said she was fine, but he knew better when she had the gold man dream again that night. Over the next few weeks, there was a good deal of preparation for the move. The dreams didn’t abate. Every time, Phil felt guilt corkscrew a little more deeply into his chest. She awoke from hard-won sleep on the day of their special appointment.

 

“Where’s the Cleaning Lady?”

“This way.” Phil held out his hand to her in the lobby of the building he had visited years previously. The building was almost unchanged except the mural on the ceiling was updated. He wished he didn’t have to come back but he needed to see if the Cleaner could erase Evey from AIM’s database. The elevator doors opened to her special floor, the miles and miles of bookshelves the same as ever. “And don’t call her the cleaning lady, thats rude. She’s Agent Brandford.”

“Mr. Carlton?” a raspy voice inquired.

Evelyn immediately hid her face behind Phil’s legs at the voice. Funny, that was more or less his reaction the first time he met her. Phil chuckled, taking Evelyn by the hand and led her over to Elsa’s desk. As she promised all those years ago, she had barely changed a bit. Her barn-owl face considered him with dark, unblinking eyes.

“You’re on time for once,” she mused going over the file on her desk, “ I understand you are having difficulties with a research lab hounding you?”

“Yes. They-”

She cut him off with a clipped, “Director Fury has updated me on the situation. I have my IT Team on it now.” She handed him the extended file with all the data of their current and former identities. He opened it and made sure to hide the obituaries from his daughter, who looked at the file curiously.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at something.

“Your updated information. Your personal information stays the same, but your address has been updated along with your contact information. It should be enough to lose you in a city as large as New York. And on top of that, we laid a few false trails. If they bother to chase them down to the end, they will find it a pretty fruitless endeavor.”

“And you’re able to get rid of AIM’s data on her just like that?” Phil asked cautiously.

“We have been very fortunate. Because of their extended networking with schools and other institutions, we are able to maneuver our way inside their system using a few weak holes and stage a little, ah, digital accident. Nothing too serious, nothing to cause lasting damage. But several of their files will be, shall we say, unusable. It’s so much easier to dispose of data now than in the old days. There were a few missions where we had to resort to arson to get the job done cleanly.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part,” chuckled Phil but his professional curiosity was piqued, “How far does their network go? Who all is involved?”

“According to my little internet minions, it’s quite extensive,” explained Elsa, “They have a pretty wide net across schools and some businesses.”

“Do you happen to have a list of those schools?”

“Of course. I’ll e-mail it to you.”

“How much do we know about AIM, overall?” inquired Phil.

“Not much,” said Elsa, leaning on her desk with one elbow, “All we know is what you have told us and the little bit we have picked up by snooping through their system.”

“What do we know about the guy who visited me?”

“What was his name?”

“He didn’t leave a name, but he looked like a punk.”

Bradford examined him over her steely-framed glasses, “As in a literal member of the punk subculture or as a colloquial term for a goon?”

“Sort of both.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest, “I’m afraid I can’t help you much. We really weren’t looking for any information to that effect. And in any case, we would technically need a search warrant if ever we were going to use it.”

“I’m not saying we should use it. I mean, other than being creepy they haven't done anything wrong. I’m just saying we should find it. We should know who and what we are dealing with.”

“I’ll see what my little IT minions find, but I make no promises,” she said noncommittally, “I thought it was the spy’s job to do the information gathering. I just make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Well, we need help too,” he closed up the file and tucked it into his briefcase. The last of the loose ends was tied off.

“Oh, and Coulson,” she smiled at him softly under her beaky nose and pinched glasses, “I’m not one to say ‘I told you so,’ but I did say you would be back.”

Phil wanted to smile but he couldn’t quite conjure it up. His confidence was definitely knocked down a peg. In the end, she would be better off. As they drove to their new home, he decided it was well worth the blow to his pride.

The new apartment was a bit bigger than the last one. There were wide windows in the living room that let in plenty of light and made the whole room glow bright gold with late afternoon light. Right now, it was empty but soon it would fill up with furniture and other trappings of everyday life. Evelyn wandered around the large space, clutching her Captain America doll close to her chest. She fiddled with the little leather boots as she explored the corners of the new space. Finally, she managed to work her way around to her own bedroom. The walls were ivory with built-in bookshelves painted a pale blue. She hurried over to Phil and smiled up at him.

“Papa, my bed is here.”

“Yes it is,” smiled Phil, watching as Evelyn put Cap in his customary spot, his tiny thread smile and mismatched eyes poking out from between the pillows.“I made sure you would sleep in your own bed tonight.”

She hugged him close, “Thank you Papa.”


	12. Zippity Zappity Boo

"Evey, do you want to go to to California for vacation this year?"

"Why California, Dad?"

"I have to go to San Bernadino next week for some work," explained Phil, "But… I happened to get my hands on Disneyland passes. For three days."

She bounced in her seat with happiness, "Really?"

"I have everything arranged. We'll leave right as I finish with stuff for work."

She practically jumped onto him, arms flung around his shoulders, "Really? Papa! This is amazing! I can't wait to go!"

The week went by way too slowly for either of their tastes. Evelyn had packed almost three days before she needed to. Her bags sat by the door, eagerly awaiting the special day. Evelyn couldn't stop talking about everything she wanted to see and do.

"Emmy at school told me everything there is to know about Disneyland," she proudly proclaimed over breakfast one day, "We have to go on Splash Mountain and she says you have to sit in the second to front seat if you want to get wet. We also need to go get Dole whips. She says they are the most amazing thing. And we have to go on the Indiana Jones ride. I know it is going to be super busy because it just opened but we have to go. Nobody else at school has seen it before."

"Nothing about the mouse that started it all?"

"We have to get a photo with him, but I really want that pineapple whip thing and go solve the mysteries of the temple of doom." Phil's hand twitched at the sound of Doom being mentioned. Despite the debacle being seven years ago, he still had flashbacks.

"Well, tomorrow," smiled Phil, "I'll pick you up from school at noon and we'll catch a quinjet flight with Maria. Once work is done, we are free to head off to the happiest place on earth."

"I get out of school early," she giggled, squirming impatiently in her seat, "I can't wait!"

They took a quinjet flight out to the West Coast armory and dry dock. It was an exciting time. The old helicarriers were going to be delegated to security operations while the new fleet took to the skies for remote ops. However, Phil leaned on Nick long enough that he appropriated one of the old helicarriers for recruit flight camp and remote ops training. All it needed was a bit of a touch-up and better internet.

Evelyn's eyes widened as she took in the massive ship sitting in the dry dock. Dozens of agents worked like a swarm of ants to put together the new components of the ship. Flashes of light burst forth from welding torches and scaffolding up and down the sides of the ship sparkled with fresh paneling and wet paint.

"Wow!"

"Yeah, It is pretty amazing," smiled Phil, proud of his work.

"Can I go for a ride?"

Phil ruffled his daughter's hair so the fluffy bits stuck up in the back. She squirmed, wiggling out of his grasp with a laugh, "Maybe once it is finished. You can help me set up my office."

"You have an office? In that?" she asked smoothing down her hair.

"Yup. It's over on the other side, toward the top," he pointed in the general direction, "You and I will check it out later."

"Cool."

A group of agents smiled and held their arms open to Evelyn as she drew near for an embrace. The young agents liked having her around, she reminded them of their own daughters, sisters, and nieces at home who they didn't get to see as often as they liked. They had dozens of questions for her and she drank up the attention.

"Are you doing sports in school, Evey?"

"I bet she would be the best," laughed another agent.

"I would be in sports if he," she playfully socked her father in the arm, "would let me."

"There are very good reasons why I can't allow that," replied Phil diplomatically.

"Mostly because I would win."

Phil nodded, "By a landslide. You don't need to prove anything. You are perfect as you are."

Phil grabbed her around the waist tickling her slightly, smiling as she giggled. Maria smiled at the small family as they roughhoused. It was very bizarre to think that she would be eleven years old in just a few months. It wouldn't be long before she was a teenager and, oh, wouldn't that be something to see?

"Phil," interrupted Maria, "We have work to do."

Phil put his daughter down, planting a kiss on her forehead. Evelyn wiped it away but smiled all the same, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaad!"

"Wait here, Evey," he requested, "Maria and I need to take care of one or two things. We will come and get you when we're done. Go ahead and work on your homework."

"Okay," she smiled, sitting down on one of the crates that she had leaped onto.

"If you need help, Maria will be back to help you out."

She nodded, pulling her folders from her backpack. If Phil didn't know any better, he would say she enjoyed doing her homework. Not that he was complaining. Her science and math scores were good, English and history were acceptable, all in all a decent student. If he was being brutally honest, her report cards were much better than his were when he was her age. But nobody needed to know that.

"What do we have here?"

"Medical supplies and testing materials," said an agent, handing him the clipboard, "Requisitioned by Doctor Hawthorne for recruit medical testing."

"Sounds fine to me," sighed Phil as he signed off. It was all just formality, really. This was all creating a paper trail for the bean counters. Medical equipment was one of the few things that the higher-ups didn't scream over… much.

"Alright," he said, walking over to the cargo plane, "Bring it around. Let's get this thing unloaded. Agent Carter, can you bring the crane over here?"

"Sir!"

"Let's be careful here, people," he said to all those assembled, "We don't want anyone hurt. If someone says 'stop,' drop what you are doing and stop. We clear?"

"Yes, sir!" The assembled group responded in almost perfect unison.

Phil nodded, "Okay, let's get the boxes unloaded."

Despite the crane acting up a bit in the beginning everything seemed like it was going well. The hydraulics were sluggish and not particularly well maintained. It was secondhand, like most of the things associated with the project. Either that or he would blow his entire budget on startup costs. He'd rather beg Nick to use the old stuff than beg the budget committee for new stuff. Either way involved groveling, but he maintained a bit more of his dignity this way.

"Last batch," someone called, "Coulson, you need to move your cactus baby. She's sitting on the last of the crates."

Phil tried to hold back rolling his eyes. There was no way of knowing all those years ago that the stupid name Nick made for Evelyn would become popular jargon. It amazed him that it stuck around for so long.

"Evey, stand back over there with Maria, we need that crate," instructed Phil, "I don't want you to get hurt by one as we move it."

Evelyn glanced up from her work, she huffed her frizzy bangs out of her face and looked a little mad to have to move. Reluctantly she shoved her work in her bag and jumped off the crate and went to where Maria was. She murmured something to which Maria smiled. They walked off to the side, sitting on some stacked boxes. Phil smiled as Evelyn held up her notebook and Maria scribbled something with a pen. There was a chance that Maria was helping her spell-check. More likely, they were drawing caricatures of their fellow agents.

"Hey!" someone yelled. Phil turned.

The crane groaned, hydraulics protesting under strain. Metal screeched against metal as the long arm of the crane swung down toward the stacked pyramid of metal crates. The agent operating the machine managed to swing the arm over so it wouldn't hit any of the people ducking for cover but in the process, the two couple of crates tilted ominously towards Phil.

"Clear out!" he yelled, waving his arm to get the other agents far away from the falling materials. He turned, too late. Not knowing what else to do, he flung himself out of the way to avoid most of the crate, narrowly preventing himself from getting smashed into the ground like an ant under a boot.

"Papa!" Evelyn screamed, watching the metal crate fall down with a loud bang, fighting against Maria's arms, "No, Papa!"

The crate caught him across the back, pitching him face-first toward the concrete floor. Pain shot up his arm. Something cracked. He tried to wiggle his trapped arm out from under the crate but it hurt too badly. So he lay still, trying to catch his breath and figure out his next move through the haze of pain. His shoulder was probably fractured. It certainly hurt that badly. More than that, he worried about his daughter, seeing him like this. She was crying loudly, her sobs echoing around the room as Maria was no longer able to contain her and the little girl started rushing toward him, screaming.

It might have been Phil's imagination but it almost looked like the lights around the room flickered very slowly and deliberately. Maria turned to grab another agent's radio to report the incident since hers didn't want to turn on, but his didn't work either. The lights very obviously blinked again… and then a third time. Each flicker got progressively longer. The weight shifted off his arm suddenly. He groaned loudly, realizing that Evelyn just flung the crate off of him. He wanted to scold her for not being careful but the words rang disingenuous in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, the whole room went dark. Blue light appeared out of nowhere, spiralling around his injured shoulder like will-o-wisps before sinking through his jacket sleeve and into his skin. His arm felt warm but pleasantly so. He groaned as her hands seized his injured shoulder. The heat and prickling sensation along his skin grew more intense as Evelyn held on. It seemed like the whole world went quiet, save for Evelyn's choking sobs.

Suddenly, his shoulder went cold. The lights were skittering around his arm and shoulder but less so now. Gingerly, he lifted himself up on his uninjured arm and then put a bit of weight on the shoulder that was previously hurt. Phil almost fell back to the ground when he realized he wasn't in pain. The lights above flickered back to life flooding the room with light.

"Evey," he said, putting his arms around the sobbing girl, "Evelyn, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm going to be fine."

"Papa…" she wouldn't stop crying until after Phil had half-carried, half-dragged her out of the hanger and sat with her for a very long time in the command office. She was still sniffling when he finally gathered up the courage to ask the question that was nagging at him.

"Evelyn, did you see the blue lights?"

"The fairy lights?"she asked wiping her cheeks with her purple cardigan sleeve.

Phil couldn't believe he was saying the words but he did so anyway, "Yes, Evey, the fairy lights."

"I saw them."

He nodded, "Have you seen anything like that before?"

"Yeah."

Phil felt like he had been kicked in the chest. He wasn't expecting that. "When?"

"I was," she sniffled a bit before continuing, "I was working on homework and I got a paper cut. But then the fairy light appeared and it didn't hurt anymore."

"Why do you call them fairy lights?"

"I dunno. They look like the fairies in Fantasia."

He closed his eyes, trying to dismiss things as a bad dream or some side effect of shock. These sort of things didn't happen in real life: fairy lights, magical healing, and little girls able to drain the electricity from a room. But it was an undeniable fact. She was able to, somehow, manipulate electricity. She gathered it up and used it to heal him. It didn't make sense but he couldn't deny what he saw in front of his eyes.

Maria headed over overhearing the exchange between them. She shot a very obvious, very concerned look at Phil before escorting them into the makeshift medical office.

Doctor Adrian Hawthorne was brand-new resident doctor for SHIELD recruitment and operations. However today he was on site to monitor inventory needed to be replenished on the carrier. Phil had first met him back in a clinic in Livermore, California on Anita's recommendation. A doctor with textbook knowledge of mutations and an eidetic memory was exactly the sort of person SHIELD wanted on their side.

"I can't find anything wrong with your arm," said Dr. Hawthorne as he examined the X-ray from the bottom part of his bifocals, "There is a visible spot where the bone has been broken but it looks like it happened a while ago."

"I haven't had a broken bone in seventeen years up until just today."

"I saw the crate fall on his shoulder and heard it snap," said Maria severely, pointing down at the offending limb, "You can't tell me there isn't some kind of damage."

Dr. Hawthorne held his hands up defensively, slapping the x-ray up against the backlighting, "Look for yourself. There is no break. If there was, you would be in a lot more pain than you are, I can promise you."

Maria waited until the doctor left to finish inventory then she turned to Phil, "Nick is going to want to know about this."

"I know."

Phil sighed and came out of medical. He saw where Evelyn sat on a bench outside the office, working on a math packet. At least now she wasn't glowing. He ran his hands through her hair finding comfort in the motion. Despite her ever growing abnormalities she was his and it was his duty to give her the best he can when it came to being a father. This included protecting her and give her a somewhat normal life.

"You ready to blow this popsicle stand, Hon? Pretty sure Mickey is waiting for us."

An hour of traffic later Phil had her hand in his as they entered the park. The smell of vanilla and fried foods filled the air along with the air of excitement and anticipation. He wrapped his arm around her as she laughed, running from place to place. They stopped by City Hall so she could get a first visitor pin to wear on her shirt and the emporium for an autograph book and a pair of Minnie Mouse ears. Phil caved and bought one for himself as well. They took photos, went on rides and tried various foods. Both of them took solace in illusion of being completely normal even if it was only for the afternoon.

However it only lasted so long. Once they made their way over to Tomorrowland, Phil noticed his daughter become more excited, eyes shimmering with light and her cheeks darkened to a bright, healthy pink. At first he thought it was because of Star Tours and her giggling, girly crush on Harrison Ford. After a minute, he noticed that Tomorrowland was full of electricity. His theory of her ability to manipulate electricity literally came to light when they were on the People Mover. It gave a tour of the land but the track also ran indoors and was quite dark at times.

In the darkness, he noticed something strange about Evelyn. A spider web network of ethereal blue light criss-crossed her skin. It concentrated, darkening around her eyes into pools of mystic light. Her fingerprints popped out of her dark skin and her nails cast faint flickers of light around the walls of the ride. It looked like someone carved part of the night sky out of the heavens and formed it into a little girl.

"Hey there, Sparkles," he joked, poking at her arm. The nerves rippled with blue light, shooting up her arm and disappearing into her hair.

Evelyn shot him a look, "Sparkles?"

"Look down."

She finally seemed to notice her glowing nails. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of her shimmering form. Her mouth formed words but she appeared to be too shocked to say anything.

"Sweetie, are you, uh, drawing power from the rides?"

"Whu…" She looked up at him "I dunno. I wasn't trying. I swear!"

Phil smiled, taking her hand in his. He spoke with a firm, but gentle voice, "I need you to try and stop doing that."

"Okay Papa, I'll try," she fidgeted.

"Pinky swear?"

Removing her hand from his she extended her pinking and twirled it around his. Her nails already dimming.

"I promise."

They went home to the hotel after the evening fireworks. Evelyn was all tuckered out from a long day of fun and magic. She did a good job of keeping her glow to a minimum but it seemed like she was running out of spark anyway because as she fell asleep, her sparkling glow dimmed to a barely-visible haze under her was the first time he really had to sit and think about everything that happened. What had his life become? As if having a super-strong daughter wasn't enough, now this? What even was this?

It wasn't easy for him to get to sleep. Eventually the sleeping pills did their job and knocked him out for the count. When he finally woke up, it became pretty apparent that he already knew who to call. Dragging the corded phone into the bathroom and locking the door, he dialed the now familiar number as Evelyn slept in, dreams of princesses and spaceships in her head.

"Hello. Anita?"

"Speaking."

"It's uh...Phil. Phil Coulson. Uh, I mean Carlton." he swore mentally at himself.

"Is everything okay Phil?"

"I, uh... It's…"

"Phil, what's up?"

"I have a question about mutations and it… it relates to my daughter."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes." he said in defeat. "Listen do you have any data regarding children who exhibits signs before their teen years?"

Anita paused for a moment before speaking, "It's unusual for the mutant gene to manifest before puberty but it does happen from time to time. We call them changelings. They are very, very rare but the results are often very powerful or more volatile than the average mutant. You have to be careful because early manifestation sometimes indicates that secondary mutations will kick in."

"So, mutations on top of mutations?"

"More or less."

"How do you know one way or another?"

"Well," said Anita, "To start, you need to confirm that she is actually a mutant. You can test for the X-gene at any clinic or hospital with a decent lab. I can email you a list."

"If... it isn't a mutation, what could it be?"

She paused for a long time at the other end of the line, "I'm not sure. Those are far more extraneous circumstances. It really doesn't happen in nature. Most occur in a laboratory conditions, such as with the Fantastic Four. We should check for the mutant gene first since it is the most likely and then elaborate from there."

"So," Phil rubbed his forehead, "Where is the best place to go? I guess that is what I am asking for at the end of the day."

"Where are you now? I know you said before that you were moving."

"Still in New York. We're just over in Brooklyn now."

"Well," she said, a flurry of keystrokes audible across the line, "Xavier's School for Special Youngsters is in North Salem. That's not terribly far away. If you want the best of the best, that's where you can go. There is nowhere better in the entire country. If you want, and only if you want, I can call ahead to let them know about your case."

"Is there a place I can pick up some literature about it? That way, Evelyn can decide if this is what she wants to do."

"I'll send what I have to you."

Phil pulled out his clunky laptop and waited for the internet to connect. He felt like he could be honest with Anita about his daughter since it was becoming more difficult to hide her remarkable nature.

"I know I mentioned that she is adopted," explained Phil, "But I actually don't know anything at all about her birth parents."

"Closed adoption?"

"Well," Phil laughed nervously, "Look, I know this sounds strange. I found her in the middle of the desert in New Mexico when I was there for work. I don't really know all that much about how she ended up there or where she was before. I don't even really have a proper birth certificate for her. So I'm not sure if I can even find her birth parents."

Anita sighed from the other end of the line, "Unfortunately, it isn't all that uncommon for children tested for mutations to be put up for adoption or even abandoned or aborted. Some parents don't want to deal with the burden of a child with special abilities."

Phil noted the venom in her voice upon saying the word 'burden.' He cleared his throat and continued, "That's horrible."

"I know," sighed Anita, "It is a very grand thing of you to take Miss Evelyn in. But without a birth certificate, the search is going to go cold very fast. I'll do what I can to help, but I don't know what we will find, if anything."

"Well," sighed Phil, determination settling in his stomach, "Let's see what we can do for her."

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

"I know that this is a lot to take. Most parents are really… unprepared when their kid starts developing mutations. So, how are you handling it?"

Phil paused, "I don't know. It's all a shock. Things are still sort of settling in. When she was just stronger and taller than everyone else, I could give her a safe place to express her strengths and she wouldn't have to do it in public where people would hurt her or judge her. Now, I don't know. I don't even know how to start addressing this."

"Hey," Anita cut into his panic, soothing it over with her voice, "We'll figure it out. Nobody knows what to do at first. But we'll help her, both of us. And I'm here for you."

Phil smiled. It was the first time in the past day that he actually felt relaxed, like the world wasn't about to fall apart at his feet. He heard Evelyn start to stir in the next room and realized he needed to wrap this conversation up before she became suspicious.

"Okay. We can do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the end of the 1st section of the story. we're going to take a week long break and publish again on August 3rd to hit the ground running with the next section


	13. Mutantmatium

"PAPA!"

Phil heard the scream and jumped out of his desk to run frantically to his daughter. He knocked on the bathroom door, pleading to be let in. Evelyn was screaming on the other side of the door.

"Evey! Evey! Are you alright?"

Finally the latch clicked open and every father's worst nightmare stood before him. Crimson blood was smeared across Evelyn's hand and still more stained her jeans. Her eyes were red, puffy, swollen from crying.

"Papa," she whimpered.

"What happened?" he grabbed her shoulders firmly to try to settle her.

"I-I… I think I started my period."

"Oh…"

She blinked, more tears pouring from her eyes, "Oh?  _Oh_?"

"You scared me! I… thought you were really hurt," muttered Phil, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It was her period. There was nothing more innocuous than that. Or, that's what he was thinking before he saw the sheer amount of blood staining her pants.

"What do I do?" she asked in alarm, her voice getting higher in pitch with each word. Her reddened eyes squinting at him, asking questions he didn't have answers for.

"I-I don't know…" he stammered, trying to take in the sheer amount of blood. In his experience, when people lost that much blood at once, they needed medical attention.

Evelyn's face changed and Phil felt a wave of dry heat hit him full in the face, like sticking his head in an oven, "Oh my God, Dad, GET OUT!"

"What?"

"Out!" she ordered, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

"Evelyn, do not slam the doors," ordered Phil sternly as he turned to find a phone and call for backup. As he turned, he saw something fall into the floor out of the corner of his eye. The ceramic lamp on the end table nearest the bathroom slumped into a folded mess like it was made of Play-Dough.

"Jesus…"

He could hear Evelyn's panicked sobbing on the other side of the door. Not knowing what else to do, he called a familiar number and prayed he would receive help.

"Phil?" Maria answered the phone.

"Maria!"

"Yes…?"

"Oh my God, Maria, she started her period and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Evelyn is completely panicked.  _She melted the table lamp_!"

"It's easy, you go and buy pads or something," she said from the other end of line, slightly annoyed.

"Maria, I am terrified of the feminine… products aisle. There are fifty thousand varieties of pads and I don't know which one to get!"

He could almost hear the sound of her rolling her eyes through the phone line. A rush of static indicated a sigh of defeat as she spoke, "Is Evey there with you?"

"No, she's crying in the bathroom. I can't get her to leave. She's trying to keep it together and not melt any more appliances. I didn't know what to do!"

"First things first, go and pick up the biggest tub you can find of rocky road ice cream."

"That's not funny," frowned Phil.

"I am not joking."

In response Phil quickly gathered into his car and may have ran some red lights to assist his teenager. The cashier raised a quizzical eyebrow at the amount of ice cream and pads he dropped at the check out counter. Phil crossed his arms and frowned, sparing no time for the judgement of the zit-faced bag boy. He was a father on a mission! Upon arriving at their apartment he noticed the door was unlocked and Maria's keys were on the bar.

"Maria! I don't know what to do!" He yelled running down the hall to the bathroom, carrying a large bag full of every variety of pad available in one arm and a gallon of softening rocky road ice cream in the other. She planted a hand in the middle of his chest and stared at him with stern eyes. Phil was alarmed at the severity of her face. She didn't even blink!

"For starters," she said clearly and slowly, "You need to calm down. You are panicking her by running around and freaking out." he relaxed and she continued, "Put the ice cream in the freezer. I'll coach her through it."

He did as he was told. Attempting to calm himself, he listened to Maria talk to his daughter. She knocked softly on the door and it creaked open. He didn't hear Evelyn crying, so it seemed like whatever Maria was doing worked.

"Just stay calm, " ordered Maria, kneeling next to Evelyn on the bathroom tiles, "Evey, this is normal, okay? What you are going through is nothing different than what any other woman in the world has to go through."

Evelyn wiped her running nose on her sleeve, leaving a slimy trail in its wake. Her eyes were still full of tears and more were on the way even though she tried to calm down. The giant bloodstain on her pants only pushed her and made her more scared than before. Instead, she looked off to the side and studied the bathroom wall.

"Are you okay, Evey? Keeping it together?" asked Maria, turning to stare at her in the eyes. Maria's slight sternness and tenacity was strangely comforting in the raging sea of trouble.

"I'll… I'll be fine," sniffled Evelyn, "I think… I think I'll be fine."

"You will," said Maria, "I have some pads. I also picked up a clean pair of underwear and jeans. You'll feel better when we clean you up a bit, okay?"

"Okay," shuttered Evelyn as she tried to stand up, knees still quivering with nervousness, "Okay… okay…"

The word was like a mantra, making her come back to herself. The strange energy that coursed through her veins was settling back down to previous levels. Maria pulled her into a hug and let her dry her eyes on her sweater.

"Take a shower," she said, "And then I'll show you how to use a pad, okay?"

"Okay."

"Your dad has ice cream for you when you get all cleaned up," said Maria, "It'll help, I promise."

A squeaky clean Evelyn emerged later, eyes still puffy and red with emotion. She was quiet as she ate her ice cream, shifting back and forth on her seat as she tried to adjust to the invasion in her pants.

"How are you feeling?" Asked Phil tentatively over his own bowl of ice cream.

Evelyn didn't say anything right away. Her ice cream was melted into a puddle of sugary goo in the bowl. Flecks of blue light danced along the backs of her hands and shimmered across her fingernails.

"Hurts," she put a hand on her stomach. Blue light danced along her hands and flicked against her belly. She was trying to heal her cramps. It didn't seem to be working.

"It'll do that," said Maria, "take an ibuprofen if it gets too bad. That will take care of most problems. But I think you will find you can tough it out."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. She didn't seem to want to "tough it out." Phil couldn't blame her. Chronic pain of any kind was not something you ought to mess around with.

"Do what you need to do, Evey," insisted Phil. He added another scoop of ice cream to her bowl to replace the scoop she melted. He made a mental note to double check and make sure he had painkillers stocked in the medicine cabinet.

"I'm... I'm not a little girl anymore. I mean, officially."

Phil swallowed his ice cream so hard that he received an immediate brain freeze. He pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to stifle the pain. It wasn't the response he was thinking he would hear. He was expecting to hear something about how cramps hurt or something else that he overheard the lady agents at SHIELD complain about.

Maria, fortunately, stepped in. "It's a part of growing up. One part of many. You... you have a lot to look forward to in life, Evey."

"It hurts," she muttered, "Is it all going to hurt?"

Oh, they were  _so_  not talking about cramps anymore. When Maria told her to "tough it out," he didn't think it was going to be anything more or less than letting nasty PMS symptoms run their course. Apparently it meant more than that. Maria took her hand. Phil was mesmerized by the intensity between their eyes.

"Yes. Evey, it's going to hurt. That's how it is." She stared dead into the young girl's eyes. "But that is how you are forged. That's how you become who you are going to be."

"Who am I going to be?" she asked, her voice weak, unsure. Phil's heart broke to see her so lost.

"That's for you to discover," whispered Phil. The two women looked over at him. "Evelyn, we have complete faith that you will become something truly special. I mean, you're already special but... you will only grow from here."

A murky problem had been dragged into the light. The future felt shaky, held together by hopes and prayers. Evelyn was wading into her teenage years and where it would lead, nobody knew. He never asked, but Phil assumed even Evelyn wasn't sure exactly where she was going. The thoughts weighed heavily on his mind as he walked to Nick's office one morning.

"How's Evelyn?" asked Nick as soon as he entered.

"Director, you asked me to your office to ask about my daughter? What is this about?" He paused, then sighed at the expectant look on Nick's face. "Alright, how much has she told you?"

"Maria has been reporting to me about Evelyn since the beginning. I thought you knew this, even though you pretend you don't."

He couldn't deny that.

Nick continued, "I understand your reasons for keeping her conditions close to the vest. But, the time has come to start thinking about her future and giving her a chance to grow. She will be a great agent."

"Will be?" Phil didn't like the sound of that.

"You're kidding. It hasn't occurred to you? She has a super spy for a father and has an interesting list of talents in her own right," Nick leaned over his desk, "She just needs to learn how to use her gifts. She's untrained. She needs someone to help her better control her abilities, find out who she is and what she is. If not, she could very well become more dangerous."

"So what are you telling me to do?"

"I think you have massive separation anxiety. It's actually a little bit scary. I mean, it makes sense, she's your daughter. So she can go into the SHIELD academy or she can go to a place you choose. Those are your options."

"I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just saying…"

"Phil." He interrupted, " This is an order." Nick's voice was even but severe.

Clenching his fist, Phil debated if he should accept this or fight it. Instinct screamed at him to fight. He had worked for too hard for too long to keep Evelyn out of the lab and give her a proper childhood, free to be a normal kid. Puberty was difficult for everyone and Evelyn was no exception. But he also couldn't deny that her new ability to project energy was difficult to keep secret and cumbersome to control.

"Fine," he conceded, "I've been… chatting with Anita anyway about her. We're going to find something. We're working on it."

"I'll need an answer," insisted Nick as he walked out.

He had been working with Anita for the past year and a half to find Evelyn's parents and dig up her past and find any sort of information regarding why she was special. It was a lot of digging with few results. The few scant leads they uncovered evaporated upon further investigation. Whoever they were, they buried Evelyn's past deep. He bitterly resented her parents, whoever they were.  _How could someone give up something so precious?_

And now here he was considering it, sending her away to some lab somewhere. Maybe it would be better for her, but he felt he was betraying his promise. It kept him up at night. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind flooded with every fear and worry he kept tucked away during his waking hours. It was during one of these dark nights that he came to the realization: he would always be her father. It didn't matter what she was or where she came from. He was the man who protected her, raised her, and stood up for her. This was no different. It was simply a new chapter.

And it scared the hell out of him.

He decided the weekend would be best to speak with her. That way she would be home, relaxed, and she wouldn't have to go off to school a distraught mess. Breakfast consisted of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fresh berries. It was a lot of food but normal for Evelyn.

"We need to talk," said Phil, sliding the plate of pancakes in front of her.

Evelyn looked up, her hazel eyes wide, "Okay, Dad, that's not scary at all."

"It's nothing like that," he elaborated, "I mean, we need to talk about your future school plans. Nick was asking."

"Oh, God, what does Nick want?" she rolled her eyes.

"Well, he's been," he chose his words carefully, " _concerned_  about your  _abilities._  He wants to know if you are going to do any sort of…  _specialized training_."

"I thought about it," she said, "And I get it. But where can I possibly go? Who can teach me anything about… this."

"I've been looking at that, actually," he said slowly, "For some time now."

She looked up from breakfast, mouth partway full of pancake, "And you didn't think that I would want to know about this?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Evey," he interjected, "But I was going to let you know. I was planning to wait until you were eighteen, so that way it would be legally your decision to make and you would be old enough to understand the impact of your choices. But then… California happened and then the accidental melting of the lamp a few weeks ago. So, Nick made me move my timetable forward."

He hated using words like "timetable" to describe his daughter's life but he fell back on official lingo when his normal vocabulary fell short. She swallowed her pancake before speaking again. "So, is Nick trying to recruit me for SHIELD or what?"

"That's one option," said Phil, "I've had a lot of people, some better than others, asking about you over the years."

"You could have said something, told me that people wanted to pick my brain."

"Is it really so surprising?" replied Phil, "You're a very special girl and people have noticed. I wanted you to have as close to a real life as you possibly could. I wanted you to be a child, not a lab rat."

"Papa," countered Evelyn, "I want answers as much as you do. I want to know why I'm...  _special_. If a lab somewhere can tell me why I'm like this then, I guess that's what I have to do."

"Is that really how you feel?"

She hesitated then looked at him,"Yes! I'm not in control. I don't feel in control and… and I'm scared. What if I really hurt someone?"

He couldn't argue. There  _was_  no argument. He excused himself to go to the home office and gather up what he had. He wanted to have a say in where she went. It took most of the day to gather what he had for Evelyn and put it in neat little folders.

Later that afternoon, Evelyn slumped on the couch waiting for the tea kettle to finish boiling. Phil watched her from across the room, gathering his files and laying them in front of her on the coffee table. He poured them both Mint tea with honey and served it to her. He had files for several relevant organizations. They went through the options together.

"I don't trust AIM," opened Phil, "I don't know much about them but the agents who have dropped by make me itch. They're creepy and overly aggressive. They're the reason we moved a lot when you were a child. I have a better lab option for you, if you are willing to consider it."

He handed her a folder with the SHIELD emblem across the front. Evelyn flipped it open and started reading through the files inside.

"Xavier's School for Mutants?"

"Charles Xavier and his staff lead up one of the best labs in the country," said Phil, "They are the forefront of genetic research of all kinds. They have techniques and abilities available which I can't access in SHIELD. Stark Industries and Reed Richards have advanced science labs for engineering and research but they don't hold a candle to Xavier's as far as genetics are concerned."

"Do you think I'm a mutant?"

"I don't know," admitted Phil, he turned on the sofa and leaned his head so he could look Evelyn in the eyes from her nestled spot among the pillows, "And it doesn't matter if you are. You will still be my daughter. Nothing can change that."

Evelyn smiled a little bit, "Thank you, Papa. I guess... I'll think about this."

"Take all the time you need, Honey. Just let me know what your decision is."

She read the file while he read the paper. Actually he observer her as he skimmed the Times editorial section, purely for research purposes.

"Do mutations run on your side of the family or my mom's?"

Phil swallowed, trying to dodge the question, "I'm not sure."

"You must have met my mom at some point in time to um…." she coughed and sipped her tea awkwardly. She didn't need to finish the sentence.

He took a deep breath, "No."

He paused not sure how to go about telling his daughter the truth. He dreaded this day and had been doing everything in his power to avoid it. Putting the paper down, he took her hand.

"It's been hard," sighed Phil, "We, as in Anita from work and I, have tried to find information about you and your birth parents but there's been nothing. It's literally like you fell out of the sky."

The last parts were the hardest for him to say, but it was out there, his daughter knew the truth. She stared at him, and slowly removed her hand from him. It scared him. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand back.

"I'm adopted?"

"Yes sweetie. I also wanted to wait and tell you that when you were a little older. I…"

He didn't know what to say, he was frightened that he would lose her, he had to protect her. He looked away, blinking back tears. There were a million reasons he did what he did but he couldn't find the words to give her the answers she deserved. "I love you and tried my best to give you a normal life...I don't want to… lose you."

She shoved the file onto the table and hugged him. Tears flecked her eyes.

"Papa, I love you too. Please don't cry."

They held each other for awhile and he rocked her back and forth. Her arms were warm on his shoulders, the weight keeping him grounded in reality. She ended the embrace, wiping her eyes. Phil didn't feel ready to let her go but then he would never feel ready to let her go.

"I'm going to go look these files over…" she said heavily standing up.

"Okay sweetie. If you need any-"

"I'll come ask you." she smiled grabbing the file and heading towards her room.

Phil watched her go to her room and partially closed the door. He was somewhat relieved of what had occurred but he needed a drink. He was relieved but also a bit empty inside. He pulled a beer bottle from the fridge and knew that alcohol wasn't going to help relieve the empty feeling but he could relax and maybe not freak out about Evelyn's future. He could stay distracted for a little while longer.

Phil was back in the kitchen starting dinner when she emerged from her room. He had managed to consume two beers, finish laundry, mop and finish a recruitment report in trying to avoid the stress and conflict that had occurred earlier. She lazily tossed the files onto the coffee table in the living room and made her way over to him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and leaned on him while he stirred the meat for tacos.

"Feeling better?"

She grumbled something into his back causing him to laugh. At least it wasn't a negative answer.

She pulled away, "Dad will you hate me if I don't join the SHIELD academy?"

"Of course not, I could never hate you." He turned towards her, "Ever. For any reason."

"In that case, I think...Xavier's school would be best." she avoided looking at him.

Phil internally relaxed, thankful she didn't choose AIM. "Out of curiosity, why did you choose Xavier's?"

"I thought SHIELD would be good for learning control, but if I could learn that at Xavier's along with figuring out if I'm a mutant or not. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Phil nodded in agreement with her and she smiled, looking somewhat relieved. He wrapped an arm around her, "I'll let Anita know on Monday."


	14. Bird's Eye View

For all his years of training and all his experience in the field, Phil could not open a car door with his foot. Not for lack of trying. Some stubborn part of him always insisted it was possible. Perhaps the best time to test his theory was not when he was juggling two bags of groceries and trying not to break the eggs or drop the milk. Sighing, he set down the heavier bag and opened the car door with his hand like a normal person. He probably looked rather foolish flailing his foot in the dark trying to get the toe of his shoe under the flap of metal.

Lola: 1, Phil: 0

For now.

He paused in his mental assessment of the situation when something flickered in his peripheral. Training kicked in as he nestled the groceries in the backseat and closed the door soundlessly. He held his keys between his fingers just in case he needed to defend himself quickly.

A shadow moved between the cars of the grocery store, low and skittering. Based on the shape and size, Phil figured it as a kid, early teenage years. He was probably looking for a car to steal and he wasn't being particularly subtle. The shadow settled on a silver Lincoln just out of the glow of the streetlight. Phil watched as he shrugged a large bag off his shoulder and pulled a long, thin object out. It took him a second to wiggle the object in a gap in the window. Phil crept nearer, trying to look casual and not draw attention to himself.

Fortunately, the kid was too deep in concentration on his work to notice him. Or so he thought. As he drew nearer, he heard the kid humming something. Phil chuckled. He was listening to a Walkman. Phil could faintly hear the snarling guitar of Nirvana blaring from the headphones. He couldn't hear anyone coming if he wanted to. Rookie mistake.

He stood just out of sight, watching the kid at work. He had messy sandy blond hair and gangly limbs. Hands and feet were too big in proportion to the rest of him. He was growing into his body but right now he was out of proportion. He wore a brace on his right wrist and there were yellowing bruises up and down his arms. It took Phil a second to realize it, but the kid was using an arrow to try to pop open the car door lock.

Points for obscure creativity.

What's more, it worked. The kid smirked, opening the car door and digging around inside. He didn't appear to be interested in stealing the car, more like looking through the cushions for loose change. He appeared to be rewarded for his efforts when he pulled out a small box of something and a handful of green bills. He tucked the money in his back pocket and the box in a large duffle bag.

Phil was close enough now, he could probably cut the kid off if he decided to bolt. He flirted with the idea of calling the cops but by the time a patrol car got here he kid could be in the next county over. It would be better to neutralize the threat quickly and easily. Chances were the kid was just looking for kicks and would crumble the instant he got caught.

"Hey!" Phil announced his presence loudly.

The boy jumped about a half mile into the air, a curse spilling from his lips as hazel - gray eyes locked with Phil's. The boy glanced left, then right, then left again before he did something Phil did not anticipate.

He strafed left and vaulted himself over the hood of the car, snagging the black duffle bag as he went. Phil didn't have time to analyze this strategy. He took off in pursuit, matching the kid's erratic zigzag patterns. The thought occurred to him that he was not a strong distance runner. He was much better over short distances, quick bursts of energy. If he didn't engage soon, he would fall behind and the kid could easily lose him in the labyrinth of dumpsters and delivery vehicles behind the Walmart. He needed a plan. Now.

It occurred to him there was a small wooded area just to the left back side of the lot. It was likely the kid would try to lose him in the dark trees and then make his way out to the highway.

Cut him off.

Phil veered left, falling back to follow the line of the fence while the kid wore himself out navigating the back lot of the store. Sure enough, as Phil jogged in front of a large semi truck backed up to the loading dock, he could hear the kid scampering through puddles. It rained earlier in the day so the air was wet and heavy. Everything had a film of rainwater on it.

Phil poked his head out as the puddle splashing grew louder. His chest heaved from running but there was too much adrenaline coursing through his veins to care right at the moment. He reached out to grab the kid but was shocked by the harsh rush of air flowing just past his nose. He instinctively ducked.

Was that a bullet which just grazed his nose? It felt like a near miss. It wouldn't be his first time dodging a bullet with his name on it. But there was no sound of a gunshot. As he stood, a thin line of filament ran at eye level, glinting in the low light.

Kid tried to clothesline him.

It was a clever idea.

If it worked.

"Heard you running!" taunted the kid, "You breathe heavy old man!"

_Old man?_

_Well, that was just plain uncalled for_! The games were over. Time to show his hand.

He whipped out his SHIELD badge from his inside pocket, holding it up around the box before stepping out.

"Federal agent, kid," he said, stepping out into the open, "How about we have a quick talk about what you were doing back at that car and maybe we can ignore the fact that you fired on a law enforcement officer."

It was the first time he really got a good look at the kid in proper lighting. He looked even younger than Phil originally thought as his shoulders slumped and an expression torn between fear and exasperation settled onto his face. But the oddest thing about him was the bow in his hand, perfectly nocked with a fresh arrow.

 _Well you don't see that every day._ Fair to say, that was the last thing he expected.

"Aw, hell," said the blond-haired boy, lowering his bow. "I'm..."

"Save it," ordered Phil, "Let's start by putting back what you stole. Maybe the owner hasn't noticed his personal items are gone yet."

The kid begrudgingly returned the cash and the box, which turned out held loose change, probably for the parking meters. The kid ran the risk of getting arrested for a whole twelve dollars and fifty cents. He didn't even try to take the car, which was much more valuable. Phil sat him down in Lola for his interrogation.

"Is there anything else you stole in the bag?"

"No, sir."

"Are you lying?"

"No, sir," he repeated, his voice quieter than before. Phil wondered if that was all the response he could eke out of the kid.

"What's your name?"

No response.

Phil waited.

Silence.

"Look," sighed Phil, feeling defeat creep in, "I don't want to call the cops on you. I have to get home and sitting around in the station filing a report does not sound like a good evening."

He was fibbing, of course. Stealing was wrong and it should not go without consequences. If the kid hadn't impressed him with the arrow thing, the police would already be here. He had a hunch. People don't steal a lousy twelve and a half bucks for no reason. There was much more at play here.

Nick wouldn't approve of the gears turning in his head, but the boy had some cleverness and talent. He also had just enough of a nose for trouble that he could be a fine agent. He needed training, discipline, and direction. He also needed to learn to keep his mouth shut and not get cocky. But that was exactly what academy was for. It was all he could do to hold back and investigate before making a job offer. Phil pulled out his big block of a cell phone and tossed it over to the kid sulking in the back seat of the car.

"Call someone to pick you up," he ordered. He could just run the kid home but he was curious who he would call. Home life and background were the sort of things he needed to know before attempting to recruit.

"Is this my one phone call or something?" he sassed.

"Just get someone here to pick you up. The sooner the better."

The kid sullenly took the phone and punched a number into the glowing buttons. The phone nearly rang out but was caught on the last ring.

"Hey, Barney, I'm…"

The kid rolled his eyes.

"I'm not at the police station."

" _Yet"_  was the implicit ending to that sentence.

"I'm at the Walmart and I need you to come and pick me up." Phil shot him a glare, eyes boring into the kid. He frowned and the next words were almost a whisper. "I got caught stealing from a car by a… I dunno… FBI agent or something."

The kid held the phone a good nine inches away from his ear as a loud rush of noise emitted from the speaker, raspy through the speaker. The kid's face twisted into a pained expression: eyes squeezed shut and mouth turned down into an exaggerated wince. When the noise finally stopped on the other end of the line, he tentatively returned the phone to his ear.

"I'm not in trouble, Barn, I just need to… I need to get home now," he paused, "Yeah, five minutes is fine. Yeah, I know we'll talk. I know. I  _know_  we will talk."

He hung up the phone and handed it back to Phil. A pout settled across his face as he slumped back onto the leather seats. He kept his grubby Converse sneakers outside the car so Phil was relieved he wouldn't have to clean the muck off of the interiors. Not that it was a big deal, he had been intending to get Lola cleaned for some time.

"So, where are you from?"

Silence.

"Anywhere around here?"

Silence.

"I ask because you strike me as an out-of-towner."

Silence.

Phil gave up. It wasn't terribly important he knew the kid's life story just yet. The kid also probably bought into the "code of the streets." You don't snitch to law enforcement and nobody gets hurt. If that was the case, getting him to open up was going to be tricky. But, like shucking an oyster, everyone had some point where they began to open up.

A dumpy old ivory pickup with plenty of rust on the bumpers rattled into the parking lot. The tires were extremely low and the engine sounded like a belt in the engine was coughing out its last breaths. A young man stepped out of the cab. Phil guessed he was eighteen to twenty. He was blond, but a darker, dirtier blond than the kid, and a lot broader in the chest and shoulders. But their faces were similar, family resemblance ran strong.

"Hi," said the older boy, "Are you the guy who caught my brother stealing?"

"Depends," Phil turned to where the kid was sitting in the back seat of the car, "Is that him?"

The young man's face sank upon seeing the skinny kid. "Yeah, that's him."

"And you are?"

"I'm Barney. His older brother."

"Phil," he introduced, offering a hand to shake. The young man took it.

"Phil. Look, I'm sorry about all this," began Barney, "I honestly wouldn't have blamed you for calling the cops on him."

Phil cut him off, "Don't worry. I have to be getting home and this is all just easier."

"May I have a quick moment to speak with him? In private?"

"Of course," nodded Phil, "I have a phone call I need to make anyway."

Barney walked over to the car. Phil punched buttons in on his phone and pretended to be making a call as he stepped away. Meanwhile, his phone tapped into a recording system on the car so he could listen in on the conversation between the brothers.

"Again, Clint? Really?"

"Shut up, Barney," grumbled the boy. Phil now knew his name was Clint.

"This is the fourth time I've had to bail your sorry ass out. We  _can't_  keep doing this."

"I said, drop it," Clint retorted, his voice weaker than before.

"What would Mom say?"

Silence.

"Look, you gotta stop. You are better than this. You are capable of much more than this. And you know it. That's what's sad." The boy groaned and there was a shuffle of the seats as he slumped down lower. Barney continued, "Mom believed that. I believe that."

"Well, Mom ain't here. Mom hasn't been here for a while. So I don't see why her opinion matters any."

"You don't really think that," insisted Barney, but his voice was quieter than before, less sure. Clint didn't respond, a sullen pout threatening to overtake his lips. Finally the older boy sighed, "C'mon. Let's get you back. Jaques is gonna be pissed at the both of us."

"Yeah, yeah," Clint's shoulders slumped. He wiped his dirty hands on his tee and adjusted the brace on his arm.

Phil turned away and pretended to be finishing up a call when he saw the two walk back over to him.

"Look, again, I'm sorry about my brother," said Barney, "He's… he's sort of fallen in with a bad crowd and making some dumb choices. I'm gonna be working with him, though. I promise it won't happen again."

Phil nodded. He heard this sort of thing before with parents or guardians of various recruits. You could practically compose a song around the lyrics:  _please don't mind my son, they've made some mistakes, running with a bad group of kids, I don't understand how this could happen, we're a good family and gave them nothing but the best, again we apologize for our son's criminal record._  The melody played like a broken record.

"Just keep an eye on him," said Phil, trying not to betray his professional interest in the kid just yet. At the same time, he didn't want to be too hard on him. "I'm sure it will be fine."

Barney nodded, "I know it's not much of a thank you for your trouble but here are a couple of free tickets to the show we're putting on this weekend."

Phil thanked him and watched the older brother drag Clint out by the scruff of his neck out to their truck. The agent stood with pen and paper waiting so he could jot down the license plate number on their car. He had a bit of research to do.

The car was registered to Barney Barton. A few quick searches called up a criminal record for Clinton Barton. Phil read through the slew of petty crimes: shoplifting, breaking and entering, and theft. Nothing violent, thank God. That bow and arrow must have been a one-time thing. All his discipline went through the juvenile system. The earliest of these occurred when he was eleven, five years ago.

He seemed more content to take what he could and run rather than risk putting himself in danger for a few dollars more. Judging on the state of their truck, he couldn't help but wonder if poverty may be a contributing factor. If they worked for the circus, they couldn't be all that wealthy.

He ran a search for the circus tickets Barney gave him. Touring group, based out of some small town outside of Des Moines. They did feature a trick arrow performance but the feature photo didn't look anything like the kid. Maybe he was archer-in-training? He was good enough to lead the act if that little trick in the parking lot was any indication. He closed his laptop to see Evelyn slouched across the couch, writing dutifully in her diary.

"Evelyn, how do you feel about going to the circus?"

"Uh," she looked, tucking the notebook under the couch pillow so Phil couldn't see the pages clearly. "It could be fun. Why do you ask?"

"Long story short, I got some tickets for tomorrow night. The circus doesn't come around often so it you want to go, you have a rare chance."

"Sure," she shrugged one shoulder, "so, what's the long story? Something with work? Recruiting the acrobats?"

"Nothing like that," he shrugged as he retreated into the kitchen to pull out leftovers for dinner. "You know we could always do something not work related. I mean, it wouldn't be as much fun but it is always an option."

No it wasn't.

He was lying.

To be fair, that was not his intention going in. He promised himself he was going to go and just observe and enjoy the show with his daughter. If he could do a bit of data gathering, all the better. He saw the kid as they walked in from the parking lot. He was leaned up against an old camper with a flirty smile directed at a circus girl dressed mostly in sequins and feathers.

Oh, to be sixteen again.

Phil didn't draw attention to himself. Instead, he ushered Evelyn into the tent, keeping his head low. He bought her cotton candy, pinching a few tufts of pink fluff off for himself. He couldn't eat too much or he became giddy. Evelyn's teenage metabolism consumed everything quickly and with no ill effect. Phil had to shake his head every time. Eventually there would come a day when that youthful metabolism faltered and the inevitable panic of aging would set in.

But not too soon.

The first couple of acts were pretty impressive acrobatics and trapeze performances. The limber athletes flew through the air. It was all quite daring and remarkable. The elephants started to parade out when Phil felt the call of nature and excused himself to find a restroom. A friendly usher pointed him toward the restroom under the bleachers.

After finishing nature's business, Phil tried to navigate his way back through the wooden scaffolding under the bleachers. Somewhere high above, a scratching noise caught his attention. He looked up. Clinging to the scaffolding was the blond haired boy, Clint, reaching up between the seats. His legs wrapped around the posts, holding him up. His hands were busy, reaching through the gap in the bleachers and relieving distracted persons of their wallets.

Phil chuckled to himself and then spoke up, "You know, we keep meeting under the most peculiar circumstances."

The boy froze, closing his eyes and sighing darkly. Busted.

"You following me, old man?"

"Okay, enough with the 'old man' stuff," insisted Phil, "I'm forty-two, not dead."

"Whatever!"

Silence descended between them. The air only punctuated by the gasps and applause of the audience above them. Phil waited to see what the kid was going to do and when it became apparent that he was satisfied to wait it out until Phil went away, he spoke up.

"You going to put those back or do I have to do something about that?"

"What are you going to do?" he scoffed.

"I could go up there and make you."

The kid puffed out his chest in confidence, "I would  _love_  to see you try."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," replied the kid, daring Phil to go on.

Phil walked around the scaffolding. It was made of a dark hardwood, maybe a bit worn from age but obviously sturdy enough to hold the entire audience. The metal brackets holding the crossbeams seemed in good condition. This would be easy, like running the obstacle course back in training camp. He grasped the lowest beam and pulled himself up. From there it was a simple matter of building up momentum and keeping an eye on where your feet landed. He smirked as he drew up level with the blond boy. His wide eyes tried to process the fact that a middle-aged man scaled the beams just as easily as he could. Phil smirked.

"So, are you going to put those back or not?"

Begrudgingly, he slipped the wallets back into their proper pockets and allowed himself to be summoned back down to ground level. A grumpy pout was becoming permanently emblazoned on his face, eyebrows drawing in at the unfairness of it all.

"You have a name, kid?"

The boy continued to stare down at his old shoes.

"Look, I don't want to keep calling you 'kid.' You aren't a kid," Phil noticed the boy perk up a bit at that. "So give me something to call you."

He continued to stare down the dirt for a second before sighing, "Clint. Clint Barton."

Phil already knew this but he also wanted Clint to have a sense of agency in his life. If Phil played his cards right, Clint was about to make a big decision. He needed to feel in control now more than ever. Perhaps, he mused, this was the first time in a while Clint had any sort of control over his life. But that was a discussion for a later time.

"Look, you are reaching the end of your options," said Phil as he folded his arms together, "You are reaching the end of the time when you'll be tried as a juvenile. Soon you will be tried as an adult and they won't be quite as nice to you. We're talking real jail time here."

The boy squirmed a bit, looking down at his hands for a moment before looking back up, the thin mask of bravado cracking under strain, "Are you trying to scare me?"

"Yes. I am trying to scare you but more importantly, I am telling the truth," said Phil, smiling warmly, "And I want to give you an opportunity."

"School?" Clint's nose wrinkled a bit.

"Not exactly," said Phil, beginning to feel as though he was onto something, "It is… specialized training."

"Military?" He perked up a bit at the idea, although it could be the bravado coming back more than anything else. Although, anything was progress at this point.

"I represent an organization called SHIELD. We are an organization that safeguards against global threats."

"Like… terrorists and stuff?"

"Yes. Different types of terrorism…"

"So, you are like CIA?"

"We are more top secret than CIA," smiled Phil, "We can't afford to be well known. If you join, and only if you want to, you will become a part of something bigger. You will do something with a deeper purpose. It's a brand new life."

Clint looked stunned, surprised. Part of him seemed to be surprised that this conversation was going on at all. Silence hung in the air like fog on a spring morning. Clint finally spoke up, "Why do you want me?"

"You are pretty damn good with a bow," smiled Phil, "Better than anyone we've seen up to this point. That's a skill we want on our side."

"Really," the boy scratched his fluffy hair, "You want a guy who deals with medieval weapons on your side?"

"You're also very clever about using that bow. You have some strategy under your belt."

"Well… yeah," admitted Clint, "Sure."

"We can also train you in other arenas: medicine, flight training, infiltration, languages, technology, engineering… whatever you want. Your life from this point forward is whatever you want it to be."

The boy sat in silence for a few long moments. Pressure wasn't good for getting recruits and Phil was more than willing to wait as long as it took for the boy to make up his mind. It had taken him nearly a week to come to his decision.

"What about the circus?"

"What about it?"

Clint blinked and started again, "Won't they miss me?"

"What do you think?" shrugged Phil, "Do you want to stay? Do you think your life will be any better than it is now?"

The boy was staring at his hands, "Not really. You know, it's fun but… You said I can learn to fly a plane?"

"Plane, helicopter, supersonic jet," smiled Phil, "Whatever you want. We need people with all kinds of skills, Clint, and if you are willing to offer something, we are willing to take it."

"Then… I guess… I'll do it."

"Good," smiled Phil as he stood, dusting straw off his pants, "Do you have your things nearby?"

"At my trailer."

"Let's go and get your things. We will begin your training first thing tomorrow."

"Right away?" the boy stood and followed him from the room, "Why?"

Phil opened the door into the outside world, "Why not? The world waits for nobody. We need people to respond right away."

"Makes sense," he rubbed his eyes tiredly and hurried off down the hall after Phil, "What would have happened if I said no?"

"We would let you go. I wouldn't hold you against your will," said Phil with a smile as he led Clint to his future.

"Really?"

"Sure. Although," Phil smirked, "We typically don't offer a spot unless we are fairly confident that our recruit will say yes."

"What about my brother?"

"What about him?"

"Will I see him again?"

Phil smiled fondly, "Going into SHIELD is not a death sentence. Many agents have families and keep in contact with them. If you want to talk to your brother and make sure he is okay with-"

"No," Clint interrupted, "I mean, I will, but I think he will be okay with things."

Phil considered him carefully for a long moment as the kid stood and brushed a fine layer of dust off of his shins. There was more to that story but he wasn't sure if he should press just yet. "If you're sure. We're not going to keep you from speaking with-"

"I'm sure," he looked up, smiled but there was no mirth in his eyes, "I'll explain things. He'll get it."

A few phone calls later and Phil was helping Clint load all of his worldly possessions into a SHIELD station wagon Maria drove over from HQ.

He stood back and watched as Clint and Barney spoke to each other. He couldn't hear the words but the older boy ruffled his brother's hair and then pulled him into a smothering hug. Clint struggled for a second and then allowed himself to be embraced. He hurriedly fixed his hair and jogged back over to Phil.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Clint said, "He's proud of me and blah blah blah… can we go now?"

"Grab your quiver and get in the van. I'll be there in a second. Need to discuss something with Agent Hill."

"Fine."

"Don't steal anything," Phil called after him as Clint scrambled off, "I'll know."

"You don't think I learned the first two times?"

"Nope." Phil held back a laugh as he walked over to Maria. She shook her head at him as he drew near. Phil just shrugged.

"You really do know how to pick 'em, don't you?" Noted Maria with a slight air of disapproval wafting in the evening air.

"If the kid doesn't have some kind of intervention, his best prospects for the future were jail or working as a carnie. Can you blame me for wanting to help and not sitting around while his talent go to waste?"

"First Evelyn, now this?"

"Speaking of Evelyn," Phil pulled the keys to Lola from his pocket, "can you drive her home when she is done here? I'll get Clint settled into a dorm and be right home. The nitty-gritty can wait to tomorrow, I think."

"She's not going to be happy with you," Maris noted. She accepted the keys anyway. She was not about to pass up a chance to drive Lola, the most perfect car ever to exist.

"I know," Phil frowned, "I feel awful about it. I'll talk to her, try to make it up somehow."

"You better be prepared to give her a puppy to make up for this," threatened Maria as she took her leave and went into the tent to find the girl.

It wasn't difficult. She was sitting alone in the upper deck. An abandoned cotton candy bag rested at her feet. Her face sank when Maria scrunched in next to her.

"Is Dad off recruiting?"

"Yup," Maria nodded, shrugging one shoulder.

"He said he wasn't." She rested her head on Maria's shoulder. "Can you stay with me and finish watching the show?"

"Sure thing," Maria said, sitting on the bench next to her and throwing an arm over her shoulder. She kept her head resting on Maria's shoulder, feeling the soft wool sweater brush against her cheek, watching the acts parade through.

The next day, Phil took Evelyn into work. She spent the majority of summer break at the SHIELD field office. Not only could she make use of the workout gear in the gym and hide away in the impressive library, it was time spent with her dad before she had to leave for Xavier's School for Special Youngsters. The date of her departure drew near, far faster than any of them anticipated. But rather than spending time together, Phil had to spent time with the new recruit.

And first impressions did not serve him well.

"That is a sweet little bit of ass right there. Are all the gals in SHIELD like that?" asked the boy in an undertone that was about as subtle as a tire iron to the kneecaps. Maria and Phil exchanged a glance before directing a disapproving stare at him.

"Maybe," said Phil indignantly turning to look him in the eyes, "But that's my daughter."

Clint paled to sheet white. His mouth flopped open and closed like a fish but nothing came out. Words escaped him but Phil wasn't taking any excuses. Evelyn heard him clearly. Determination burned in her pits of her eyes as she strode across the room to glare at him. Clint continued to flap his lips, looking for something to say right up to the moment when her fist slammed against his nose with a crack. He dropped like a rock, curling into a ball on the floor. Phil's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline before he turned to look back over at his daughter who stared him directly in the eye. There was a smear of blood on her knuckles.

"Sorry."

"Well," reasoned Phil, "Not entirely."

Half of him was proud that she stood up for herself, the other half was disappointed he didn't get a crack at Clint for that remark. It wasn't her fault, despite being a thirteen year old girl, her body had developed rapidly over the last few months, making her appear a bit older than she was. She walked away, seething with steam around her ears, disappearing into a nearby hallway to do her school reading in peace. Clint sat up after a moment, blood seeping down his face to his chin.

"Aw, shit… I think she broke my nose…"

Phil looked down at where the sixteen year old was still trying to regain his footing after having the daylights knocked out of him. "If you apologize, she might fix it for you."

"Fix it? What?"

"It's either that or explain to the infirmary how you got beat up by a little girl."

"How would she fix it? I need a doctor, not a cutie."

"She's both."

"What?" Clint felt dumbstruck for the second time in about as many minutes as he tried to staunch the blood flow using his t-shirt. A large patch of maroon stained the purple fabric. Now it was a matter of which course of action did less to hurt what little dignity he had left.

Eventually, he just began walking so as to get out of the way of Phil and the stern fatherly glare safeguarding his daughter's virtue. Not that the girl particularly needed it. She could defend herself just fine. Entering the hallway Clint saw the redhead. She was reading, the book propped up against her knees. With her free hands, she braided her hair. He tentatively stepped toward her, like a man in the middle of a minefield. "Your... your dad says you can fix my nose."

She looked up from her book darkly, "Maybe."

He closed his eyes, tears threatening to leak from the sides from the crackling pain across his face, "Can you fix my nose?"

She finished the braid and looked back down at her book, "No."

"No?"

"I didn't hear the magic word."

Clint sighed, "Please?"

"Not gonna cut it."

He tried to sigh in exasperation but all that caused was a cascade of blood to flow down his nose and onto his upper lip, "What else can I do for you so you will fix my nose? Please?"

She closed her book with a snap and looked up with a sharp edge to her eyes, "Get on your knees."

"Oh, come on!"

"You took a shot at my dignity," snapped Evelyn, "You need a shot at yours. Quid pro quo."

"What does that even mean?"

She rolled her eyes and returned to her book. The pain was getting to him, corkscrewing right into the middle of his head. With a deep sigh, he dropped down to one knee and his head swam, vision fading in and out. There was enough blood seeping from his nose that he wobbled, about to pass out. He was looking at the ground, barely enough dignity or energy left to look at her.

"Will you please fix my nose? It really hurts now. I'm sorry for being mean."

"Alright," said Evelyn, "Come on up here. I'll fix it."

He partly crawled into the chair next to her, avoiding her eyes even as she grabbed his face to get a good look at his nose. He looked every bit the awkward teenage boy who just had his ass handed to him in the most humiliating way possible, right down to the watery red eyes.

"That was quite a hit," he said weakly, trying to lighten the mood, "Not bad for a girl."

"Don't talk," ordered Evelyn as she grabbed the nose firmly about the base, "I should warn you, this will probably hurt."

"What do you mean it will- OW! F-fuck!"

The broken portion of the nose snapped back into place quickly and suddenly with nothing to warn him but a sickly sucking crack. Clint whimpered pitifully as pain shot across his face for a second and then he saw a surge of white light. His sinuses filled with something warm.

"Ow," he whined miserably, "I suppose I deserved that…"

"Yeah, you did," grumbled Evelyn as she fiddled around with the nose some more. It felt hot and Clint wasn't sure if it was blood or snot. Like a light switch, her tone changed into something more conversational, "What brought you to SHIELD? What's your... superpower?"

"A-archery," he whimpered, "You?"

"Family," she replied bluntly, digging in her purse for something, "Take a look at your nose now."

She handed him a small compact mirror and he looked, expecting to see his nose bent completely out of shape. Instead he took a deep breath through fully healed, pain-free nasal passages. His sinuses seemed fuller than before but he could accept that. The reflection in the tiny mirror showed a mended, regular, curvy little nose.

"It's… healed," he breathed in deeply.

"Clean up," ordered Evelyn scrunching her nose, "You smell like blood."

He ran off to the bathroom, passing Phil and Maria who observed the whole thing.

"You should've not made it hurt." he said leaning against the frame of the door, addressing the way she healed his nose.

"Bone was out of place, if I healed it without moving it he would've look like Owen Wilson."

Maria laughed, a proud look on her face. Phil clearly amused grinned, "Next time you need to set the cartilage or bone try to not make it hurt. Even if they deserve it."

She smiled, "Yes Papa."

Phil turned to walk away and fill out Clint's paperwork. Maria lingered for a second before going back to work. She knew she shouldn't, but as she passed Evelyn, she whispered, "Good job."

Clint walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later. His t-shirt was damp from where he unsuccessfully tried to clean the blood off. His eyes were red but the mess on his face cleaned up nice. They sat side by side for a moment. Evelyn pretended to be engrossed in her book and far too busy to speak with him. But it didn't stop Clint from missing the point entirely.

"How do you do that?"

"I don't know," said Evelyn curtly

"Oh?"

She sighed, setting her book aside, "I am going away to find out."

"Where are you going?"

She looked warily at him, "Away."

"SHIELD Academy? It's cool. I'm going to be there too."

"No, uh," she muttered, looking down at the ground, "Don't… don't judge me. But… I'm going to Xavier's School."

He looked at her with a smile, "Are you a mutant?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

They sat for a long moment, looking at their shoes as the world continued around them. Clint finally looked up, "You know, it's okay if you are."

"Yeah."

"Look, I'm from a circus," he elaborated, "It doesn't matter to me what you are. I live with bearded ladies and contortionists. Mutants. Mutants are cool."

She smiled, "You don't have to justify yourself."

"I know. It's just a tough life. You shouldn't feel-"

"I get it. Thanks."

They continued to stare at anything but each other for a long moment. Clint still smelled strongly of blood. He poked at the drying spot to judge the severity of the stain. He glanced back over at Evelyn, who seemed very fascinated with her fingernails.

"Can we be friends?" he tentatively asked.

"Don't push it," she ordered, but she was smiling a teeny tiny bit. Clint took it as a 'yes.'


	15. My, What Big Claws You Have

“What are you doing?”

“Helping,” Clint was wearing a new black t-shirt over his grubby old blue jeans when he showed up on their front doorstep, “Your dad asked me to give him a hand moving your stuff.”

Evelyn opened the apartment door and let him in. He kicked off his worn black Converse sneakers at the door, revealing graying socks with holes of varying sizes along the sole. SHIELD boot camp was wearing him out in the literal sense.

“Everything is pretty much already packed. We just need to get it out to the car now.”

“That’s fine, I can do heavy lifting.” He sluggishly put back on his shoes.

Evelyn held in a giggle, “I think I can handle it.”

“Are you just trying to get me to go away?” he smirked, “Because it won’t work. Your dad invited me. So I’m not leaving until he tells me I can go.”

“No,” she corrected herself quickly, “It’s nothing like that but… I really got this.”

Her eyes flicked around the room for a second and she ran over to the couch, effortlessly lifting it with one arm. Clint’s mouth fell open, eyes as wide as dinner plates. He was silent for a second as Evelyn put the couch down.

“It’s a trick.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, waving her away, “We had something like that at the circus. It’s all in how you lift it, right? So, there is some way of balancing it or something.”

“Alright, fine. Pick something for me to lift. Anything.”

“Fridge,” he said automatically, “No, wait… can you lift Lola?”

“Easily,” said Evelyn, jogging down the stairs with him. Her long hair flounced along. In just the past few years, the carroty orange stands had darkened toward a handsome auburn. “Although Dad would freak out if he knew.”

“We can do it quick,” said Clint, sliding down the stairwell banister after her, “He won’t know.”

“Dad has eyes in the back of his head,” laughed Evelyn as they made their way down to the parking garage. “He knows everything.”

“Yes I do.”

Clint jumped into Evelyn’s arms when he heard Phil’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. Evelyn squeaked and caught him, easily lifting his frame. While he was not hefty, he had some muscle bulk and was not an easy person to lift if she had been anything other than a super-strong teenager.

“So,” Phil held in a laugh at the amusing scene in front of him, “What are you two up to?”

“Clint doesn’t believe that I can pick up Lola,” blurted Evelyn. Clint shot her a look as he climbed out of her arms.

“That’s not going to happen,” said Phil, “You’re going to have to take my word that she can do it.”

“I already lifted a couch for him and he didn’t believe it was real. He thought it was a trick.”

“Well… isn’t it?”

“I assure you it is not. She’s been scaring me by picking up cars since she was about four. And you,” he poked Clint in the chest, “Shouldn’t be getting into any more trouble than you are already in. You’re already on probation.”

“Oh, come on, it was a simple mistake,” whined Clint, “I didn’t know we were doing room checks!”

“Probation? Seriously?” Evelyn rolled her eyes in the background.

“And you also stole high tensile cable,” added Phil, “That’s really the reason you got yourself in trouble.”

“I didn’t mean to steal it. I just didn’t know I couldn’t take it! It was just sitting out there!”

“Ask. Always ask. Or risk being buried in triplicate for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint looked sheepish with his hands behind his back and big, sorry eyes. He kept his mischief under control while they loaded the car with Evelyn’s things. There wasn’t a lot but she was going to be gone for the foreseeable future. All her clothes and shoes had to be loaded up as did school supplies and toiletries. Most of it fit in the trunk but some of it had to reside in the back seat of the car.

“Are you going to be back for Christmas?” asked Clint as the trunk slammed shut.

Evelyn chuckled, “I haven’t even left and you’re asking when I’ll be back?”

Clint shuffled from foot to foot, “Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I like SHIELD and I’m learning a lot but… but there’s not many people there my age. And those who are my age are super smart and don’t really want to… I don’t really understand their conversations and it’s… it’s a bit awkward. And everyone else is super intense and… which is good, you know. It’s good because I feel like I’m getting pushed, which I need but… I’m just… I’m really gonna miss you.”

“You’ll be fine. I’m not far away.” she punched his arm playfully.

“I guess.”

Phil looked up from from the front seat of the car, “We have about an hour before we have to leave. Are you two in the mood for lunch?”

“Starving!” interjected Clint barely before the words finished leaving Phil’s mouth. Evelyn shrugged. She was usually hungry.

“Where do you kids want to go?”

Clint and Evelyn shared a glance and then said at the same time, “Hamburgers.”

Phil didn’t want to think of it as a “last supper” or anything like that. She was within driving distance away and he could visit whenever. But he couldn’t deny that he would miss these outings and being able to take her away for lunch and just talk like they were doing now. Evelyn was in the middle of eating a double cheeseburger and Clint already finished his (inhaling his, more like) and was trying to steal fries off her plate. She slapped his hand away and he whined in protest.

“I was going to eat that!” insisted Evelyn, “you have your own.”

“Well, excuse me, princess!”

“Lay off, I’m no princess,” she muttered into her sandwich.

“Not when you eat like that,” prodded Clint.

Phil laughed. It was good to see Clint adjusting. They were an unlikely friendship, given their rough start. It was still far too early to know anything for certain but they were getting along well. As a father and a mentor, it was the most he could hope for. He did worry that the distance would dearly test the blossoming friendship.

Clint decided to ride up to the school with them to drop her off. He and Evelyn monopolized the backseat. Clint wanted to know what she was reading.

"The Hobbit," she said, holding up the well-loved cover for him to see. "I've read the whole series more times than I can remember. It's a nice adventure."

"Never read it."

Evelyn looked aghast, "You're kidding me!"

"We didn't have many books around," he explained sheepishly, "I mean, I stopped going to school when I was thirteen. Barney home schooled me a bit. And the rest of the circus taught me everything else."

Evelyn paused for a moment, looking at the tan cover of the book. With a sigh, she handed it over to Clint. "You need to read this."

"But you said it was your favorite!"

"Exactly. That's why you need to read it. You can give it back when you are done but you have to read this story. And then you need to read the rest of the Lord of the Rings."

"I don't know if I'll have time with school and stuff," he admitted, but his hands cradled the book.

"Take your time," she replied, "but you need to read this. It's a good story."

"Okay," he smiled a bit, "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Evelyn's good for books," noted Phil from the front seat, "She's on a one-woman mission to read through the whole public library."

"I'm a long ways away from that, Papa!"

"I'm just saying, Evelyn is good for book recommendations. You won't run out of options if you stuck with her."

Clint fidgeted in his seat, "I'll make time."

"Well, let me know when you are finished so I can give you the next book," offered Evelyn.

"You're assuming I'm going to like this," he opened the first page, "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort."

His voice faded off as he slowly became drawn into the tale of wizards and dragons, dwarves and elves. Eventually he was bent double with his nose buried between the slightly yellowed pages.

Evelyn fell silent, staring off as the city passed by their faces and the buildings melted into peaceful green country and small bedroom communities. Eventually the towns disappeared into fields of tall grain and endless expanses of green. The roads were largely empty as he turned off the main highways and into the bumpy, winding country roads.

The gates of Xavier's School were wrought iron and brick, obviously very old. The long driveway passed through a small grove of tall, majestic maple trees just starting to change colors with the onset of autumn. Clint rubbed his eyes as they drew near.

"Are we here already?"

"Just about," said Phil, consulting his map one more time to ensure he was at the correct address.

The massive red brick building emerged from between the trees. Vines of rich green ivy crept up the structure, cozied close like they were made to fit together. The roof of charcoal slate devoid of leaves or debris from the trees. A clean path led from the circular drive to a handsome forest green door. Phil parked the car and Evelyn uncurled her cramped legs as she exited. Clint was rubbing tiredness from his eyes. He appeared a bit bleary from being buried in a book for going on an hour without respite.

Phil walked around the car toward the door when he realized Evelyn was not at his side. She lingered back, looking up at the building and holding her arms against her chest. Her plum - colored sweater was pulled over her fingers as an early autumn wind whipped in from the north.

"Evey," he called, offering a hand to her. She took it, but her palm was sweaty, but that may have been from the fluffy sweater.

The door opened as they drew near. Phil instantly recognized Professor Xavier. He was still in his wheelchair and looked almost identical to his memory. There was a woman standing with him. She looked maybe twenty years old at most, with abundant ochre hair. She wore a neat green blouse and a pleated khaki skirt.

"Welcome," said Xavier as Evelyn walked up the stone steps to the door, "You must be Miss Evelyn."

"Yes," Evelyn's grip on Phil's hand was almost painful. "That's me."

"Your father has spoke often about you," said Xavier with a soft smile, "please come in, all of you."

The foyer was cavernous, made up mostly of elegant dark wood paneling. The floors were light stone tile in the entranceway but eventually swapped for deep, heavy green carpet in the sitting room. Heirloom armchairs of carved wood and velvet plush dotted the space, punctuated by vintage paintings and a handsome brick fireplace. It was a mix between an antique store and the set of The Addams Family.

"So, Miss Evelyn," said Professor X as he turned and parked his wheelchair across from her, "please have a seat so we can begin our entrance interview."

Phil and Evelyn took a seat. Clint lingered back by the door, apparently fascinated with the brass finishings or else feeling like the third wheel to this party.

"I hope you don't mind, but my assistant will be taking notes. This is Jean Grey, she is one of the older students at the school and assists me with some administrative tasks and, ah, mobility issues."

The girl with the bright hair nodded, smiling, "I do what I can."

Evelyn nodded but it felt like someone else was performing the basic tasks of moving while she was a passenger in her own body. Her eyes flicked nervously around until Phil rested a hand on her arm. His warm smile allowed her to settle back into her skin.

"First of all, can you explain the nature of your abilities?"

"Well, uh, it started when I was very young. I've always been strong, as long as I can remember."

"I first noticed when she was four and she lifted a couch," added in Phil.

"And then when I was a bit older, the glittery, healing, thing sort of happened."

"Ten," noted Phil, "you were ten when we first started noticing. You called them fairy lights."

"To what extent do you know your powers? For example, are you aware of how much you can lift?"

Evelyn fumbled, trying to remember how high the bench press at SHIELD went but she didn't remember. Lifting those were no real problem and they had to be at least two hundred pounds, if not more. She said as much.

"So you do not know your maximums?"

"I guess not," muttered Evelyn.

Professor X nodded kindly. He had a few more questions regarding what Evelyn had experience healing, her grades in school, favored subjects and other academic related questions. Jean was scribbling things rapidly on a legal pad. It may have been Phil's imagination but she seemed to be writing much more than Evelyn had said.

"You need to get settled," Professor X noted after some time had passed, "go and unload your car, bring your things inside. Your roommate, Katherine, will not be out of class for a few more hours but we can begin the process of moving you in right away."

Clint's ears perked up and he hurried to the car, Phil and Evelyn on his heels. She felt tight in her chest, nervous. It was just starting to sink in that her time with her father and Clint was limited and dwindling fast. Together, the process of unloading the car took next to no time. It was almost time for them to leave and attempt to beat the rush of traffic back into the city.

They would leave without her.

“I wanted to give you a little something before you left. Just as a,” Phil paused to find the word because ‘goodbye gift’ left a bitter taste in his mouth, “Little reminder of home.”

He pulled a small box from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her. She opened the case and inside two sparkling diamond earring rested on a slip of black velvet. Evelyn gasped.

"Papa, you shouldn't have!"

"I needed to get something nice for my little girl, now that she's becoming a grown-up."

Phil threw his arms around his daughter, holding her tight to his chest. He planted a kiss on her forehead, brushing away a stubborn strand of hair which fell right into her teary hazel-green eyes.

"Papa," she sniffled and suddenly she was a baby girl in his arms again, a baby girl asking for her daddy to hold her and keep her safe, a baby girl who deserved to be loved. She would always be the little baby he picked from the desert sagebrush and carried home, swaddled in his work jacket. She would always be the little cactus baby.

Phil struggled to remind himself this was all for the best. His daughter chose this place for her education. He was doing this in attempt to be a good father and give his daughter the best he could offer. But letting go... he would never get used to that feeling.

When Phil finally relinquished her from the embrace, she turned to Clint. He was trying not to look on the verge of tears but his eyes betrayed him. He held out a hand for Evelyn to shake but she pushed it aside and went in for the hug. Warm arms squeezed his sides to hard he felt like he was being choked. But he wrapped his arms around the girl.

"You better call," muttered Clint, "it's gonna be boring without you."

"I'll miss you too," she replied from the folds of his shirt, "and enjoy that book. Let me... let me know what you think."

"Damnit, you're making me cry. I don't want to cry," he choked, wiping the tear away. Clint continued to hold onto her, letting a stubborn tear break loose and float down his cheek.

"We'll be back in a few weeks to visit," promised Phil. He said it half to comfort Clint but also to reassure himself.

As the car vanished down the drive and Evelyn vanished into a speck in the rear view mirror, waving to them as they slipped over the horizon, Phil stole a glance into the passengers seat. Clint was being uncharacteristically quiet. His nose was buried between the pages of the Hobbit, his own journey equally as unexpected as the title character's. Indeed, as Phil mused, all three of their lives were a series of unexpected journeys. All of them leading and convalescing into this moment in time.

And all he could do was hope they were on the right path.

Evelyn, meanwhile, watched the iron gates close behind Lola and the red car scooted off down the road. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned into the school, the place she was going to call home for the indeterminate future.

She followed Jean and the professor through the ornate halls. She had to admit the building was beautiful: all oak paneling and handsome carved moulding. There were old paintings on the walls and some framed photographs of the students. The distinctly old-world architecture vanished upon opening the door to the labs.

The ornate fixtures were replaced with powder blue walls and glossy white surfaces. The furniture took a turn for the ergonomic: deep chairs made of a soft material, like a bean bag, hung in a shiny chrome frame. Computers and lab equipment dotted the tables and tall cabinets filled with bottles and flasks took up three of the four walls. She recognized some of the equipment from school classes but many were unfamiliar to her.

“Evelyn,” said Xavier, “I’d like to you meet Doctor Hank McCoy. He is going to head up your genetic testing.”

Evelyn didn’t quite to know what to think of the blue beast in front of her. He looked like a grizzly bear in the most literal sense. Yellowed eyes peered out of tufts of fur. He looked like he could easily rip her to pieces but he extended a large… paw… and his eyes seemed nice and warm. Part of her wondered if Professor X was completely out of his mind. But another part of her was too overwhelmed to question anything. She was in a world of mutants now, she should have suspected the strange right away.

“It’s n-nice to meet you,” she said softly.

“Likewise,” said Doctor McCoy, his voice was velvety deep and… she didn’t know how else to put it, human.

“Hank will help with any sort of medical tests that you need. We need some preliminary sampling before we can move on. When you are done, you will be introduced to your roommate and we will prepare you for classes,” instructed Professor X, turning his chair as he spoke, "Either Jean or I will be in touch."

“Okay,” Evelyn took a deep breath to hold in her trembling.

“Good girl,” Professor X turned fully around to leave, “I will see you later.”

“Well,” said Doctor McCoy, as he set something down on the tray nearby and the doors shut behind Professor X, “Let’s get the tests started. Please take a seat. I regret that I don’t have a more comfortable chair for you. All the ones I have around here have to be molded so… well, so I can fit.”

The chair folded in around her, making her feel soft and warm. It wasn't unlike being in the middle of a hug, which made her miss her father and Clint all the worse. She held in the broken feeling in her chest and plastered on the best brave face she could muster.

“If you want to get this going,” said Doctor McCoy, “We can begin.”

“What is going to happen?”

“I’m going to check your genetic sequencing first,” said McCoy, “Also test for things such as hormone levels which might give us some way of telling why there is an early start to your  powers.”

“It is really that unusual?”

“Unusual,” confirmed McCoy, “But hardly unheard of. Mutations are a funny business. Signs can manifest early but reach their peak in puberty. There are also what we call 'secondary mutations.' It’s just fancy words meaning that the mutation expands.”

“So like Pokemon evolving?”

McCoy shrugged one shoulder, “More or less. Now, I need to take your blood pressure and then I’m going to draw a little bit of blood so I can test your sequencing and chemistry. Will you be all right with this?”

“I’m not afraid,” bluffed Evelyn. If she was being totally honest with herself, nothing scared her worse than this moment.

“Good girl. I’m going to have Jean take your blood since my hands…aren’t exactly cut out for delicate work.”

He wiggled his large, clawed fingers playfully as he picked up the armband for blood pressure. With a little giggle, Evelyn felt herself relax, despite the redheaded woman drawing very near with a rather large needle.

Sometime later a thought popped into Evelyn’s mind that was not her own. ‘It seems like you’re finished, can you come to my office?’

“Uh…” She looked around, trying to pinpoint where the strange voice came from, and noticed Beast chuckling at her.

“Dr. Xavier didn’t mean to startle you. Here, I’ll lead you to his office.” They made their way down the hall to the elevator. They entered into Xavier’s office. A woman leaned on the desk, tall and slender with abundant curly hair and pretty features: an upturned nose and shapely lips.

“Ah, Evelyn. I apologize for frightening you. I tend to use telepathy when I am in a hurry or need to contact those from down stairs.”

“Its okay. I just... I wasn't expecting it.”

“There will be lots of surprises for you the first few days. I wish there was a good way to acclimate you to the new environment but I’m afraid there is no good way to do so. As you’ll find most of us are different just as you are, but we have a common need of fitting together.” His gaze turned to the woman, “Evelyn this is Rogue. She has lived her for a few years now and will be showing you to your room.”

Evelyn nodded towards her and took her in. She had a platinum blond streak in her brunette hair and wore commando pants, high boots, and a grungy and faded band shirt. Topping off the look were a well-loved pair of brown gloves.

“Hi there, let’s get you situated.” she said with a southern drawl. "We had some of the boys take your things. Faster than luggin' it up those godforsaken stairs."

"I would have helped if I had known," offered Evelyn as she followed the girl through the halls.

"You got plenty to worry about your first day. You don't need nothing else on your mind, sugar."

The sentence didn't make sense in Evelyn's mind. It was like a game of Scrabble got upended and she tried to make sense of the jumble of pieces left behind. Eventually, she gave up.

"I heard we have roommates."

"Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. I was s'posed to give you the rundown of dorm rules. So, rooms are girls with girls and boys with boys. You can have boys in your room, but the door's gotta be open and they can't be in there after ten at night," she leaned in conspiratorially, "Between you and me, nobody follows that rule much but you gotta be careful so's y’all don't get caught, understood?"

"Yes," Evelyn's mind raced to keep up.

"So, you have your class schedule. They all begin right on time, 'cept Logan's because he can't always be asked and nobody much argues with him."

"Why-?"

"Oh, you'll find out why as soon as you meet him," chuckled Rogue, "And, ah, dinner's five to six. Breakfast starts being served at six until eight. Lunch is between noon and two. But each floor has a kitchen on it so if you feel hungry, you can cook yourself somethin'. Remy and I usually do soup or somethin' at least once a week 'cause we get a hankering for a bit of home. Ah! Here we are!"

She paused in front of a door, brass numbers on the front labeled it as room 222. Rogue knocked and the door creaked open. A girl stood in the frame, smiling.

"Heya, Kitty," smiled Rogue, "brought you a friend."

Kitty was petite, like a willow tree, with thin limbs and long fingers. Chocolate-colored hair framed her round face in loose waves and bounced around her shoulders. Her eyes were honey brown with flecks of olive green flashing near the iris. She smiled and flounced toward her new roommate.

“You must be Evelyn,” she said, offering her hand no sooner than she stepped over the threshold of the door. “I’m Kitty.”

“Nice to meet you,” replied Evelyn, taking the offered hand. The other girl had a light grip but  still with a presence in her hand.

“Which bunk do you want?” asked Kitty, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

The beds were arranged in an L-shape. The top bunk flush against the wall while the lower bunk was perpendicular, half covered by the upper bunk and snug against the corner. Kitty’s dresser, covered with scarves and jewelry stood at the foot of the upper bed. Another dresser was tucked under the top bunk, parallel to the lower bunk. Evelyn assumed that would be hers.

Evelyn glanced nervously at the top. Her eyes flicked down quickly. “Do you mind if I have bottom? I’m not overly fond of heights.”

“S’cool. I’m already on top. So that just makes things easy.”

“Thank you,” sighed Evelyn as she let her duffle bag slide off her shoulder and onto the floor.

"Here's your key to your room and the floor," Rogue instructed her, handing her a ring with a pair of tiny brass keys, "The front door locks at eleven unless otherwise noted to make sure you are in before then. Other than that, you can go pretty much anywhere any time you want. Except the airfield. You gotta have a permit for that."

"There's an airfield?" Evelyn's already scrambled brain tried to take in this fact.

"I'll show you after dinner if you want," explained Rogue, "but we gotta get a move on if we want hot food. Dinner starts in ten minutes. And you want to get there before the boys, 'cause they eat like wild dogs."

The students all ate together in one communal room on three long tables. Evelyn tried to do a head count of all the students there but she lost track after forty-eight because she was fairly certain she started counting the same people twice. She took a seat between Kitty and Rogue.

Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs. Ordinarily she would be enthused by the meal as it was well prepared and the air itself seemed imbibed with herbs and spices. Tonight, however, exhaustion lingered in her bones. More than eating, she desired to fall into bed and let the day end. Tomorrow would inevitably arrive and too soon for her liking but if she could forget everything and hover in the plane between reality and dreams, it would be a relief. Instead, she was sitting at a table eating food surrounded by strangers in a place she only just arrived in and had yet to establish, really, as being her home. She tried to make do by engaging in conversation.

“So, how long have you been here?”

“Year and a half,” explained Kitty, “I roomed with Rogue last year but she’s moving into the other wing so she can be closer to the containment unit. I didn’t have problems, but she said she wanted to play it safe.”

"Play it safe?" Evelyn asked. The canyon between words and comprehension grew wider with each conversation.

Kitty leaned in, "Rogue's power is that she can absorb the energy and abilities of anyone she touches. It's wicked cool but... dangerous. Like, it could kill you, dangerous."

"Hence the gloves?" She ventured.

Kitty nodded. Evelyn swallowed. She never particularly thought of mutants as being dangerous. She heard stories in the newspaper, of course, but it seemed overhyped and made to scare. Her father worked with a few mutants and they seemed exceptionally ordinary people. It was hard to understand what the big deal was. Evelyn pondered it over as she forced herself to eat something to try to fill the hole in her gut.

"So what's your power?" Evelyn asked, almost fearing the answer.

"I walk through walls," Kitty shrugged, stuffing a meatball into her mouth. "You?"

"Uh, well, I am... strong... and, uh, I heal people using electricity."

"Rad," smiled Kitty, "bet you are a real help in a pinch."

"Something like that."

After dinner, Kitty helped Evelyn get the room situated. They shared a bathroom with their neighbors, a pair of boys named Bobby and Kurt. Bobby was a gangly boy with long limbs and a mop of blond hair. He somewhat reminded her of Clint with his smirking grin and glittering ice blue eyes. Kurt was more unusual. He had indigo skin and hair, glowing yellow eyes with no pupils, and a tail ending on a sharp point. His hands and feet were odd, with three large digits on each limb. But his smile was kind and his voice soft, heavily accented.

"I grew up in Bavaria," he explained, "with a traveling circus."

"That makes you the second person I have met from a circus," she smiled.

"Ah, do tell," he encouraged.

Talking about Clint made Evelyn realize how much she had gotten used to his company. He tried teaching her how to shoot a bow while they abused the SHIELD weight room over the summer. She had just started getting the hang of it when she left.

Fortunately, lights out time came quickly and Evelyn could sink into her new bed. Her body was drained but her head was buzzing. She pulled the blankets up around her face but her thoughts wouldn't slow down. She opened her eyes and the room still seemed bright as day. The light burned against the inside of her eyelids, barely blocked out no matter which way she turned.

Frustrated, and not knowing what else to do, she walked over to the nightlight and knelt to remove it from the outlet. Kitty looked up from her bed. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep,” announced Evelyn, “I’m sorry, Kitty. But the light…”

“Oh no,” exclaimed Kitty, “Evelyn, no, I can’t.. I’m…I’m afraid of the dark!”

Evelyn paused, her hand over the light for a second. “Look, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes it is!”

“Look, trust me.”

“Evelyn!” Kitty covered her eyes with the blanket as the other girl pulled the light from the socket, “Eek!”

“Kitty? Open your eyes.”

“No!” she squeaked, eyes crinkled shut.

“I’m serious.” she yawned

The girl peeked over the edge of the blanket, her eyes wide with fright. The expression dissolved as she saw a pale blue-white glow emanating from Evelyn. Her skin sparkled with light, concentrating around her fingernails and in the shadows of her eyes.

“Wow.”

“See, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Can you make it brighter?”

She concentrated on the energy in her and the room brightened. She sighed after a few seconds, unable to keep it up. Her body dimmed back to its previous glow.

“Thats okay, any light helps.” Kitty smiled, “Doesn’t it keep you up?”

Evelyn shrugged, “I don’t really notice my own glow.”

“Is it a part of your ability?”

“I think so.” she yawned climbing back into bed.

“Thanks, Evelyn. Good night.” Kitty rolled on her side to face Evelyn and snuggled in her bedding.

“Night Kitty.”

Despite ending the night on a good note, Evelyn had a dream about the gold man. It had been some years but the dogged steps of the mysterious man haunted her. When she awoke, there was a weight on her forehead. She sat up and it slid down her face. The face of a small toy puppy stared back at her.

"Oh, good, you're up," said an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the room.

Evelyn blinked and tried to refocus her thoughts. She wasn't at home. Home was an hour away. She was waking up without her father down the hall for the first time in her memory. She had a roommate. Her name was Kitty. And her roommate could walk through walls.

"You were thrashing around in your sleep," she explained, "When Rogue would do that, I dropped a Beanie Baby on her and it usually helped. I guess it kind of worked with you too."

Evelyn reached over to set the toy on her dresser and stretch on the bed. She took a deep breath and set her feet on the ground. The room didn't feel like home yet but, maybe eventually.

She dressed and looked at the small box on her dresser. The earring rested inside, sparkling in the morning light as it streamed in the window. She put the tiny diamond studs in her ears, admiring them for a second in the mirror. It made her feel better. It made her feel like there was a bit of home with her. It made the step into the new day, new classes, new people a little easier to take.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the hall.

Far away, at SHIELD HQ in New York, Phil Coulson was keeping a close eye on his daughter. He examined the feed from the small video camera he had embedded in the pair of earrings he gave Evelyn. Disapproving eyes peered over his shoulder.

“If she finds out, Evelyn is going to be pissed at you,” noted Bobbi.

“I’m just doing what any concerned parent would do and making sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble.”

“And, so, what if she does? Are you going to fly up there, break down the door, and scold her?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest, “Exactly how do you plan on explaining to her how you knew what was going on?”

“I’ll tell her the truth.”

She held back a laugh. To her credit, she almost succeeded. “She’s not going to take that well at all.”

“Look,” Phil turned in the chair, “It’s a preventative measure. You hope you will never have to use a seat belt, but it is in your car anyway.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Evelyn is going to see it that way. She’s going to see it as spying. Take it from me, little girls don’t like their daddies knowing every single aspect of their life. Some things are sacred.”

“If we’re careful, she never has to know.”

“If you’re careful. I’m having no part in this,” Bobbi threw her hands up in defeat, “But I’m going to be first in line to say ‘I told you so’ when this things go wrong.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

Phil subtly reached over and knocked on his wooden desk, just to be certain.


End file.
